SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS.

J

SCRIPTURE

CHARACTERS.

BY

ROBERT S. CANDLISH, D.D.,

FREE ST. GEORGE'S, EDINBURGH.

LONDON:

T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

IT is not mere affectation that makes me avoid the use of
the title " Sermons" in designating the following papers.
Nearly all of them were, in point of fact, written and
delivered as pulpit discourses, either in the course of the
Author's ordinary ministry or on particular occasions ; and
they will doubtless be found to bear the usual marks of
compositions intended rather to be heard than to be read.
But I would not wish them to be regarded as fair speci-
mens of what I think the preaching of the gospel to a
congregation, from Sabbath to Sabbath, ought to be. Not
inadmissible at intervals, for the sake of variety— not
inconsistent with evangelical doctrine, or incapable of a
practical application — they are still not altogether what
one would call " gospel sermons." At all events, I prefer
that they should be judged by a somewhat more flexible
and accommodating standard than I might myself apply
to compositions professing to be the utterances of ambas-
sadors for Christ, in the direct discharge of their com-
mission, beseeching men to be reconciled to God.

iv INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

For the very miscellaneous character of the volume
some apology is due. A slight thread of connection may
perhaps be traced in certain portions of it ; and one or
two subjects are pretty fully discussed. But for the most
part, the papers are but desultory and fragmentary essays ;
suggesting topics of inquiry, rather than exhausting them ;
and neither fitted nor intended to demonstrate any one
truth, or series of truths, in the system of Theological or
Moral Science. On this account I have hesitated much
about obtruding them on general notice, and I even sus-
pended the publication for a considerable time. Circum-
stances, however, of no interest to the community, have
led me to complete the work and consent to its issue.
And such as it is, it may be welcome and useful to
friendly readers.

Some of the papers have appeared in print before.
They have undergone, however, such revision — often
amounting almost to rewriting — that I can scarcely plead
guilty to any charge of plagiarism from myself. I have
endeavoured to present them in a form more worthy of
preservation than the hasty publication of most of the.m
at the time permitted.

I could have wished that, in appearing thus before the
public, I had had a better reason to give for printing a
book than the usual apologies which, if I chose, I might
adopt. Had it been a treatise more evidently called for
by the times, or more directly bearing upon the defence

INTRODUCTORY NOTE. V

of divine truth, the interests of society, or the advance-
ment of scriptural knowledge, I might have been more
justified in hazarding the publication. But let it pass.
And, such as it is, may a blessing from on high accom-
pany it !

EDINBUBGH, 23d May 1860.

PREFATORY NOTE

NEW EDITION OF SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS.

I HAVE been advised to publish the SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS
in a separate form by themselves, reserving the MISCEL-
LANIES for another volume. This accordingly is now done.
A chronological arrangement also of the Characters is now,
as far as practicable, adopted. The articles have undergone
careful revision and correction ; but no material change
has been made as to their substance.

EDINBUKGH, April 1857.

CONTENTS.

Page

I. THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC—" AND HE DIED " ... ... I

II. ELI — HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD — PARTI. ... 21

III. ELI — A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD — PART II. ... 43

IV. ELI— A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD— PART III. 61

V. THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD — EXAMPLE IN THE CASE OF AN IM-

PENITENT SINNER — CHARACTER OF AHAB ... ... ... ' 74

VI. THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD IN THE CASE OF THE RIGHTEOUS — CHARAC-

TER OF JEHOSHAPHAT ..._ ... ... ... ... 101

VII. HEROD — WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS — ON THE CHARACTER
i

OF HEROD, TETRARCH OF GALILEE ... ... ... ... 123

VIII. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF " WORLDLS SORROW WORKING DEATH" ... 143

IX. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING ... 1-66

X. PETER — HIS GENERAL CHARACTER — ITS STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS 187

XI. PETER — THE TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH ... 201

XII. MARTHA AND MARY — PART I. THEIR COMMON GRIEF ... ... 217

XIII. MARTHA AND MARY — PART II. THEIR DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF,

AND THE LORD'S DIFFERENT WAYS OF DEALING WITH THEM ... '231

XIV. THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN — PART I. ... ... 244

XV. THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN — PART II. ... ... 259

viii CONTENTS.

Page
XVI. MARY MAGDALENE — WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE ... 276

XVII. THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN — PONTIUS PILATE JUDGING

THE LORD CHRIST ... ... ... ... ... 297

XVIII. THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET— PONTIUS PILATE DEALING

WITH THE JEWS ... ... ... ... ... ... 320

XIX. THE CASE OF PILATE — A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT 339

SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS.

i

THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC— " AND HE
1 DIED."

GEN. v. 5, 8, 11, 14, &c.

" And Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation."
EXOD. i. 6.

THE succession of generations among the children of men
has been, from Homer downwards, likened to that of the
leaves .among the trees of the forest. The foliage of one
summer, withering gradually away, and strewing the
earth with its wrecks, has its place supplied by the exu-
berance of the following spring. Of the countless myriads
of gay blossoms and green leaves, that but a few months
ago were glancing in the beams of the joyous sun, not
one remains ; but a new race, all full of brightness and
promise as before, covers the naked branches, and the
woods again burst forth in beauty and song, as if decay
had never passed over any of their leafy boughs. So of
men : " One generation passe th away, and another genera-
tion cometh, but the earth abideth for ever" (EccL i. 4),

— the same to the new generation that cometh — the same
A

2 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

scene of weary labour, endless vanity, alternate hope and
disappointment — as if no warning of change had ever
been given — as if the knell of death had never rung over
the generation that is passing away.

But there is one point in which the analogy does not
hold, — there is one difference between the race of leaves
and the race of men : Between the leaves of successive
summers an interval of desolation intervenes, and "the
bare and wintry woods" emphatically mark the passage
from one season to another. But there is no such pause
in the succession of the generations of men. Insensibly
they melt and shade into one another : an old man dies,
and a child is born ; daily and hourly there is a death
and a birth ; and imperceptibly, by slow degrees, the
actors in life's busy scene are changed. Hence the full
force of this thought — " One generation passeth away, and
another generation cometh" — is not ordinarily felt.

Let us conceive, however, of such a blank in the suc-
cession of generations as winter makes in the succession
of leaves. Let us take our stand on some middle ground
in the stream of history, where there is, as it were, a
break or a void between one series of events and another,
—where the whole tide of life in the preceding narrative
is engulfed and swallowed up, and the new stream has
not begun to flow. Such a position we have in some of
the strides which sacred history makes over many inter-
vening years, from the crisis or catastrophe of one of the
world's dramas to the opening of another : as, for instance,
in the transition from the going down of Israel into
Egypt in the days of Joseph, to their coming out again

" AND HE DIED." 3

in the time of Moses. Here is a dreary vacancy, as of
a leafless winter, coming in between the scene in which
Joseph and his contemporaries bore so conspicuous a part,
and another scene in which not one of the former actors
remained upon the stage, but "there arose up a new
king over Egypt, which knew not Joseph/' And the
historian seems to be aware of the solemnity of this
pause, when, dismissing the whole subject of his previous
narrative, he records the end of all in these brief but most
suggestive words, — " And Joseph died, and all his breth-
ren, and all that generation/'

The first view of this verse that occurs to us is its
striking significance and force as a commentary on the
history of which it so abruptly and emphatically an-
nounces the close. The previous narrative presents to us
a busy scene — an animated picture ; and here, as if by one
single stroke, all is reduced to a blank. But now we
saw a crowded mass of human beings— men of like pas-
sions with ourselves — moving and mingling in the eager
excitement of personal, domestic, and public interests, like
our own. They were all earnest in their own pursuits ;
and the things of their day were to them as momentous
as those of our day are to us. They thought, and felt,
and acted, and suffered ; they were harassed by cares and
agitated by passions ; and, their restless energies contend-
ing with the resistless vicissitudes of fortune, the very
earth they trod seemed instinct with life and the stern
struggles and activities of life — when, lo ! as by the touch
of a magic spell, or the sudden turn of the hidden wheel,

4 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

the whole thronged and congregated multitude is gone,
like the pageant of a dream, and the awful stillness of
desolation reigns. It is as if having gazed on ocean
when it bears on its broad bosom a gallant and well-
manned fleet — bending gracefully to its rising winds, and
triumphantly stemming its swelling waves — you looked
out again, and at the very next glance beheld the wide
waste of waters reposing in dark and horrid peace over
the deep-buried wrecks of the recent storm. All the earth,
inhabited by the men with whose joys and sorrows we
have been sympathizing — Egypt, with its proud pyramids
and palaces — Goshen, with its quiet pastoral homes — the
rich land of Canaan — the tented deserts of Ishmael — all
passes in a moment from our view ; and there is before us,
instead, a place of tombs, one vast city of silent death —
Joseph is dead, and all his brethren, and all that generation.
What an obituary is here ! What a chronicle of mor-
tality ! how comprehensive, yet withal how precise and
particular — beginning with a particular intimation, and
then swelling out into the most wide-sweeping and whole-
sale generality of announcement ! In the first instance, the
name is given — "Joseph died;" as if the intention were
to enumerate in detail the whole. But the number grows
and accumulates too fast — his brethren also died. These
too might in part be specified — Reuben, Simeon, Levi,
and Judah — Issachar, Zebulun, and Benjamin — Dan
and Naphtali — Gad and Asher. But already the family
branches out beyond the limits of easy computation,
and all around there stands a mighty multitude, which
arithmetic is too slow to reckon, and the pen of the ready

" AND HE DIED." 5

writer too impatient to register, and the record too small
to contain ; and all must, without name or remark, be
summed up in the one indiscriminating notice — a notice
all the more emphatical on that very account — " Joseph
died, and all his brethren, and all that generation. "

" And all that generation :" How many thousands
does this phrase embrace ? and of how many thousands is
this the sole monument and memorial ? How startling a
force is there in this awful brevity, this compression and
abridgement — the names and histories of millions brought
within the compass of so brief a statement of a single fact
concerning them — that they all died ! And these were
men as alive as we are to the bustle of their little day
— as full of schemes and speculations — as much wrapt
up in their own concerns and the cares of the times in
which they lived. Each one of them could have filled
volumes with details of actions and adventures too im-
portant in his eyes to be ever forgotten ; and yet all that
is told of them in this divine record, and told of them as
of an uncounted and undistinguished mass, is, that they
all died. Or, if any particular individual has been selected
for especial notice; if any one, by the leading of Provi-
dence, and by his own worth, has gained in this record
an undying name; and if he has collected a small circle
around him, who dimly and doubtfully stand out in his
light and lustre, and are not quite lost in the common
crowd; — still, he to whom prominence is given, and they
who partly share his exemption from oblivion, are singled
out only that they may be the better seen to have their
part in the one event which happeneth alike to all ; and

6 THE UNIVEKSAL CHARACTERISTIC

for each and all the same summary form of dismissal suf-
.fices, — " And Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all
that generation/'

Surely it seems as if the Lord intended by this bill of
mortality for a whole race, which his own Spirit has
framed, to stamp as with a character of utter mockery
and insignificance the most momentous distinctions and
interests of time ; these all being engulfed and swallowed
up in the general doom of death, which ushers in the one
distinction of eternity.

I. Let us ponder the announcement as it respects the
individual, — " Joseph died/' Let us carry this intimation
back with us into the various changes of his eventful life,
invested as these are in our recollection with a peculiar
charm by the affectionate associations and the fresh feel-
ings of childhood. Does not the intimation impart to
them all a still more touching and tender interest? We see
Joseph a child — a boy — a youth at home — the favourite
of a widowed father — the first pledge of a love now hal-
lowed by death. We follow him with full sympathy
through the petty plots and snares of a divided family,
to which his frank and unsuspecting simplicity made him
an easy prey ; and when we think of him as even then,
in boyhood, honoured by direct communications from
above, and on that very account persecuted and hated by
those who naturally should have cherished and watched
over him ; when we read of his unsuspecting readiness
to meet them half way in their plans against him, and of
the desperate malignity of these plans — the cruel deceit

" AND HE DIED." 7

practised on his aged parent, and his own narrow escape,
his providential deliverance ; — are we not touched by
the reflection, that all this is but to lead to the brief
conclusion, " Joseph died" ? We accompany him to Egypt.
We go with him into Potiphar's house, and rejoice in his
advancement there. We share in his disgrace and degra-
dation. Joseph in prison is to us like an old familiar
friend. His innocence, his unsullied honour to his deceived
master, his unshaken loyalty to his God, endear him to
our hearts, and we burn with indignation at the wrongs
he suffers. The dreams which he interpreted, the chief
baker's fate, the chief butler's fault, all the particulars, in
short, of his exaltation to royal favour — his rank at
Pharaoh's court, his power over all Egypt, his policy in
providing for the years of famine, his treatment of his
father and his father's house — these circumstances in his
history, the history which first ' won our heart in child-
hood, and longest retains its hold over us in age — these
things give to the earthly career of Joseph an attractive-
ness and beauty in our fond esteem, equalling, nay, far
surpassing, what we have ever found in any of the pic-
tures of romance.

It may not be pleasant to cast over all this stirring
picture the sullen gloom of death ; yet it does invest it
all with a sort of softened and twilight charm, like the
peaceful shades of evening shed over a busy landscape ;
and it teaches, at al] events, a salutary lesson, — to bear in
mind, that prominent as was the station which Joseph occu-
pied in his day, famous through all ages as his name has
become, great and lasting as were the fruits of his measures

8 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

after he was gone, touching not the Israelites alone, but
Egypt and all the world — he himself had to go the way
.^of all flesh. His trials, with their many aggravations —
his triumphs, with all their glories — were alike brief and
evanescent ; and his eventful career ended, as the obscurest
and most common-place lifetime must end — for "Joseph
died."

Read over again the history of Joseph with this run-
ning title, this continual motto, " And Joseph died." Call
before your mind's eye its successive scenes ; and as one
by one they pass in review before you, and you gaze on
the man of so many changes, let a loud voice ever and
^xanon ring in your ears the knell, " And Joseph died."
And try how this startling alarum will affect the judg-
ment which you form and the emotions which you feel.
Take each event by itself — isolate it, separate it from
all the rest, bring it at once into immediate contact with
the event which closes all — and see how it looks in the
/light, or in the lurid shade, of the tomb.

Joseph is at home, the idol of a fond parent. Ah !
dote not, thou venerable sire, on thy fair and dutiful
child. Remember how soon it may be said of him, and
how certainly it must be said of him, that " Joseph died."
Joseph is lost, and the aged father is disconsolate. He
thinks of his son's bright promise, and of all that he
might have been, had he been for a season spared. But
grieve not, thou grey-haired patriarch. What though thy
child has gone ere he has won life's empty prizes ? Ah !
think, though he had been left to win them all, how it
must have come speedily to the same issue at the last,

"AND HE DIED. 9

and it must have been said of him that " Joseph died."
Joseph is in trouble — betrayed, persecuted, distressed,
wounded in his tenderest feelings, a stranger among
strangers, a prisoner, a slave. But let him not be dis-
quieted above measure, nor mourn over the loss of his
prosperity. It will be all one to him when a few years
are gone, and the end comes. It is but a little while,
and it shall be said of him that " Joseph died." Joseph
is exalted — he is high in wealth, in honour, and in power.
He is restored to his father — he is reconciled to his
brethren. But why should all his glory and his joy elate
him ? It will be nothing to him soon — when it comes
to be said of him that " Joseph died." Ah ! there is but
one of Joseph's many distinctions, whether of character
or of fortune, that does not shrink and shrivel beside
this stern announcement. The simplicity of his trust iii
God, the steadfastness of his adherence to truth and holi-
ness, the favour of Heaven, his charity out of a pure heart
and a good conscience and faith unfeigned — these will
stand the shock of collision with this record of his decease.
And the one bright thought on which chiefly we love to
rest when we read this record is, that he of whom we
learn the tidings that he is dead, is the same Joseph
whom we have heard uttering, under strong temptation,
the noble sentiment, " How can I do this great wicked-
ness, and sin against God ?" — the same Joseph of whom we
have read in prison, that " the Lord was with him, and
showed him mercy \" — the same Joseph whom we have
seen in Pharaoh's presence disclaiming all personal credit,
and giving glory to God alone — " It is not in me ; God

] 0 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

shall give Pharaoh an answer of peace ;" — the same
Joseph who has spoken so kindly to his father and his
brethren, soothing his father's death-bed with the pro-
mise that he shall indeed, as he so fondly wishes, lie
with his sires in the promised land, — " I will do as thou
hast said ;" and relieving, with exquisite delicacy, the
troubled consciences of his brethren, — " Fear not ; ye
thought evil against me, but God meant it unto good ; I
will nourish you and your little ones ;" — and finally, the
same Joseph who is found strong in faith when the hour
of his own departure comes, hoping against hope,
" making mention of the departing of the children of
Israel, and giving commandment concerning his bones,"
saying, " God will surely visit you, and ye shall carry up
my bones from hence/'

Yes, it is something to learn that it is such a man;
one who fears to offend against God, who trusts in His
mercy, and who glorifies Him before kings ; one, moreover,
so dutiful to his father, so generous and forgiving to his
brethren ; and one, in fine, so firm in faith to the last,
and so joyful in hope of the inheritance of God ; — it is
something to learn that it is such an one, that it is
Joseph, who is dead. There is comfort in the news that
Joseph died. " The righteous is taken away from the
evil to come" — " Blessed are the dead who die in the
Lord/' So "Joseph died"—

II. " And all his brethren." They too all died, and
the vicissitudes of their family history came to an end
in the silent tomb. That family history has its scenes

"AND HE DIED." 11

of tenderness and of trouble, of pathos and of passion, like
other family histories before and since — scenes of similar
though surpassing interest ; and do not all these scenes
derive a new interest and new significance from* so solemn
an intimation of death at the close ? The actors in these
scenes, the members of this family, would surely have
thought and felt far otherwise than they did, had they
reflected always how soon the time would come when, of
all their joys and sorrows, their jealousies and heart-
burnings, their rivalries and resentments, their feuds and
reconciliations, their sins and their sufferings — when of
all these the simple and solitary record would be, that
" Joseph died, and all his brethren." Ah ! how inti-
mately shou'rl this reflection have knit them together in
unity of interest, of affection, and of aim ! The tie of a
common origin is scarcely stronger or closer than the tie
of a common doom. That they were all born in the
same father's house is an argument of love that is greatly
heightened and enhanced by the consideration, that soon
it may and must be said of them that they are all gone
to the same resting-place of the tomb.

The graves of a household, as they are dug one by one ;
the breaches in the little circle of home, made singly and
in detail, as one and then another dear member is called
away ; — these are very impressive to you who remain, and
stamp with a new character in your estimate all the in-
tercourse which you have been wont to have. When
individuals of a family depart, ah ! does it not compel the
survivors to review the past in a new light, and to think
— alas ! often in what bitterness of soul — on what terms,

1 2 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

and for what objects and ends, they have for long years
been living together? The friend, the beloved brother
who has gone, has acquired, by his death, new value in
your esteem — a new and sacred claim to your regard.
Now for the first time you discover how dear he should
have been, how dear he was, to your hearts — dearer far
than you had ever thought. How fondly do you dwell
on all his attractions and excellencies ! How do his
faults and failings fade away from your eyes ! And oh !
with what a pang, and with what poignancy of grief, does
the wounded soul brood over any passages of unkindness,
any instances of neglect ! How frivolous are all former
causes of misunderstanding, all excuses for indifference, now
seen to be ! Death has stamped upon them all a charac-
ter of most absolute insignificance; and bitter almost
beyond endurance is the idea now, that for the sake of
such trifles and vanities as are all the things of earth
that breed coldness and suspicion among brethren, you
have in any degree lost or wasted the season of friendly
and familiar communion, so precious and so soon to close.
How cheerfully would you give your all, if you could re-
call the lost one but for a day, or for an hour, that you
might unburden your heavy heart, and exchange anew
forgiveness and affection ! With what warmth would
you now meet, with what fulness of confidence and love
would you embrace, him whom but yesterday, perhaps, you
carelessly overlooked or cruelly offended ! Would that
you had known then how soon and how suddenly death
was to claim him as ite victim ! Ah ! you would have
better improved the time of his remaining with you.

"AND HE DIED/' 13

You would not have omitted so many opportunities of
cultivating and enjoying his intimacy. You would not
have delayed from day to day your purposes of kindness.
You would not have been so readily and so frequently
estranged from him. You would not have suspected, or
envied, or provoked, or wounded him, as you have done.
You would not have consulted so habitually your own
selfish inclinations, or sought your own selfish ends, or
indulged your own selfish passions. And, above all, you
would not, in your dealings with him, have so exclusively

regarded the things of time/ and so grievously neglected ^

the things of eternity. Ah ! you would not have met so
often, and so soften parted, without one sentence or one
mutual thought of godliness interchanged between you.
You would have spoken more faithfully ; you would have
conversed and communed on the things that belong to
your peace. You would have wept over sin together,
and praised the love of the Saviour together, and prayed
together, and joined together in works of faith and labours
of love. Your reserve would have been far more com-
pletely laid aside, and God would have been far more
fully acknowledged, and a "word in season" would have
been uttered, and something, it may be, perilous to the
soul of a dying sinner would have been left unsaid, if,
when you last saw and conversed with your brother, you
had had the slightest idea that he was so speedily to go
to his long home.

And does this consideration lose its force when, by such
a sentence as that before us, the members of a family are
not, as it were, individually and one by one, but alto-

14 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

gether, and in one sweeping summons, called to pass from
the shadows of time to the dread realities of the eternal
world ? Is there not an awful voice to families in this
short, solemn note of death — " Joseph died, and all his
brethren"? "With their loves and hatreds, their fears
and hopes, their family affections, such as they were, their
family sins — they are all gone from this earth, and the
place that once knew them knows them no more. And
whither are they gone ? And what are their views now,
and what their feelings, on the matters which formed the
subject of their familiar intercourse here? Are they
united in the region of blessedness above ? Are they
formed again into a society in heaven, more happy and
more stable than was their household on earth — Joseph
and his brethren, the beloved Benjamin and the aged
Jacob, all met in joy, to part no more for ever ? Or is
there a fearful separation, and are there some of their
number on the other side of the great gulf, — vainly re-
gretting the time when they would not cast in their lot
with those who were faithful to their father's God ? We
dare not raise the curtain, or gaze even in imagination on
the mysterious secrets of the invisible state. It is enough
that they are all dead, and have left the many things
about which they were careful, and have all now at last
learned the lesson — " One thing is needful/'

0 would to God that the anticipation of the time when,
concerning us and those with whom we are dwelling
together in families, the final and summary record shall
be, that we are dead and all our brethren, were sufficient
to teach us that lesson now, ere it be too late ! 0 that

"AND HE DIED/' 15

God himself would persuade us now so to cultivate the
charities of home, in the spirit and the hope of heaven, that
to us and our brethren may be applied, in their highest
and holiest and happiest sense, the words of David's
lamentation over the father and son who fell together in
the fight — " They were lovely and pleasant in their lives,
and in their death they were not divided ! " So " Joseph
died, and all his brethren" —

III. " And all that generation/' The tide of mortality
rolls on in a wider stream. It sweeps into the one vast
ocean of eternity all the members of a family, — all the
families of a rr^e. The distinctions alike of individuals
and of households are lost. Every landmark is laid low.
The various dates and manners of different departures are
merged and overwhelmed in the one universal announce-
ment, that of all who at one given time existed on the
earth, not one remains — Joseph is dead, and all his
brethren, and all that generation. Some are gone in
tender years of childhood, unconscious of life's sins and
sufferings — some in grey-headed age, weighed down by
many troubles. Some have perished by the hand of
violence — some by natural decay. Here is one smitten
in an instant to the dust — there is another, the victim of
slow and torturing disease. The strong man and the weak
— the proud man and the beggar — the king and the sub-
ject— whether in prosperity and nursed by friends, or in
dreary and desolate destitution, without a friend or brother
to close the anxious eye — all are gone. The thousands
have met their doom from a thousand different causes, and
•

^^ 0?

* - '

C u « * V & A w

1 6 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

in a countless variety of circumstances. War, famine,
pestilence, have had their innumerable victims. Crime
has carried off, in one undistinguishable crowd, the
ministers that did his pleasure — the dupes that fell into
his snares. Profligacy has slowly preyed on the pining
souls and bodies of her votaries. Accident has suddenly
snapped the thread of life. The tyrant, mingling men's
blood with their sacrifices — the falling tower, crushing its
inmates under its weight — fire seizing the midnight
dwelling, or the lonely ship in mid ocean afa«r — the
Assassin's knife — the poisoning cup — or the weary wear
; and tear of a prolonged battle with life's ills, — all have
; achieved their triumphs over the proud race that lords
it in this lower world. Grave after grave has been
opened and filled ; man after man has gone the way of
all living ; new bodies have been consigned to the silent
tomb ; new sets of mourners have gone about the streets.
And now, of the entire multitude that at some one point
of time occupied the earth, not one remains, — all, all are
gone. Various were their pursuits, their toils, their
interests, their joys, their griefs — various their eventful
histories ; but one common sentence will serve as the
epitaph of all — "Joseph died, and all his brethren, and
all that generation."

And another generation now fills the stage — a genera-
tion that, in all its vast circle of families, can produce not
one individual to link it with the buried race on whose
ashes it is treading. Make for yourselves, in imagination,
the abrupt transition which the historian here makes in
his narrative — the sudden leap across an interval of years,

"AND HE DIED/' 17

during which the gradual process of death and birth has
been going on, ever emptying, but ever replenishing, the
earth, and keeping it ever full. Make that interval, as
he does, an absolute blank, — a dreary void, — a great
gulf. Let the sleep or oblivion of a century come in
between ; and as you awake out of a trance, let it be
amid a throng as eager and as intensely active as that
which you left, but a throng in which you see "not the
face of one old friend rise visaged to your view/' It is
the same scene as before ; but ah ! how changed !

On a smaller scale, you have experienced something of
what we now describe. In the sad season of bereave-
ment, how have you felt your pain imbittered by the
contrast between death reigning in your heart and home,
and bustling life going on all around ! Oh ! to step out
from the darkened chamber of sickness, or the house of
solitary woe, and stand all at once in the glare and amid
the tumult of the broad and busy day ; to see the sun
shine as brightly, and the green earth smile as gladly,
and all nature rejoice as gloriously as ever, while all to
you is a blank ; to hear the concord of sweet voices
mocking your desolation ; to mix with dreary heart in
the unsympathizing crowd; — it is enough often to turn
distress into distraction, and make you loathe the light
and life that so offend your sadness ! In the prospect,
too, of your own departure, does not this thought form
an element of the dreariness of death, that when you are
gone, and laid in the silent tomb, others will arise that
knew not you ? — your removal will scarce occasion even
a momentary interruption in the onward course and in-

18 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC

cessant hurry of affairs, and your loss will be but as that
of a drop of water from the tide that rolls on in its career
as mighty and as majestical as ever.

But here, it is a whole generation, with all its families,
that is engulfed in one unmeasured tomb ! And, lo !
the earth is still all astir with the same activities, all
gay with the same pomps and pageantries, all engrossed
with the same vanities and follies, and, alas! the same
sins also, that have been beguiling and disappointing
the successive races of its inhabitants since the world
began !

Is there no moral in the shadow which this gigantic
burial of a whole generation in a single brief text casts
upon all these things? What are they all, — the joys and
sorrows, the cares, the toils, the pleasures of time, — as
the gate of eternity opens to shut in from our view, with
one wide sweep, the millions that once used them, as we
are using them now ? What are they all, with the tears
and smiles which they caused, to these millions, to whom but
now they seemed to be everything? What will they all
be to us, when of each one of us, as of Joseph, the simple
record shall be, that " Joseph died, and all his brethren,
and all that generation?"

This funeral of a whole generation! — the individual,
the family, and the entire mass of life, mingled in one
common tomb ! — surely it is a solemn thought. It
appeals to our natural sensibility. But does it not appeal
also to our spiritual apprehension ? Natural sensibility
is but little trustworthy. It is easily moved by such
musings; and it is as easily composed. Violent emotion

"AND HE DIED/' 19

and frivolous apathy are the extremes between which it
vacillates and vibrates. To win and command its sym-
pathies for the moment is an insignificant and unworthy
triumph. Faith, on the other hand, finds matter of deeper
and more lasting impression here. Death is the great
divider. It severs families and cuts friendships asunder,
breaking closest ties, and causing the most compact asso-
ciations to fall in pieces. Coming as it does upon the race
of men one by one, — singling out individually, one after
another, its successive victims, — it, resolves each hill or
mountain into its constituent grains, taking separate
account of every one of them, as separately it draws
them into its insatiable jaws. But death is, after all,
the great uniter too. Separating for a time, it brings all
together at last. The church-yard opens its graves to part
dearest brethren and friends ; but soon it opens them
again, to mix their kindred ashes in one common dust.

Is the union, however, that death occasions real, sub-
stantial, enduring?

" Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that genera-
tion/' Death passed upon them all, for they all had
sinned. It is the common lot — the general history — the
universal characteristic.

And there is another common lot — another general
history — another universal characteristic : " After death,
the judgment/' Joseph rises again, " and all his brethren,
and all that generation/' And they all stand before the
judgment-seat. There is union then. The small and
the great are there ; the servant and his master — all are
brought together. But for what ? And for how long ? —

20 THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC "AND HE DIED."

" The wicked shall go away into everlasting punishment,
but the righteous into life eternal/'

What a solemn contrast have we here ! Death unites
after separation : the judgment unites in order to separa-
tion. Death, closing the drama of time, lets the ample
curtain fall upon its whole scenery and all its actors. The
judgment, opening the drama of eternity, discloses scenery
and actors once more entire. All die ; all are judged :
the two events happen alike to all.

And both are near ; for the time is short, — the Lord
is* at hand.

But before death, before the judgment, is the gospel,
which is now freely preached to all. And a voice is heard,
" Behold, I stand at the door, and knock ; if any man
open unto me, I will come in to him, and will sup with
him, and he with me/' Let this feast of love be begun in
heart after heart, as one by one sinners die in Christ unto
sin and live in Christ unto God. And when individuals,
families, generations, are separated, and united, to be
separated again — separated by death, united at the judg-
ment, to be finally separated for eternity — may it be our
privilege to meet at the marriage-supper of the Lamb,
beyond which there is no parting any more for ever.

ELI — HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 21

II.

ELI— HIS HEAKT TREMBLED FOR THE ARK
OF GOD.

" I will judge his house for ever; because his sons made themselves vile, and he
restrained them not." "And Eli said, It is the Lord; let him do what—
seemeth him good." "Eli sat by the wayside watching; for his heart
trembled for the ark of v. od." — 1 SAM. i.-iv.

PART FIRST.

THE key to Eli's character is in these simple words: "His
heart trembled for the ark of God/' He was a good man,
but timid ; faithful, but fearful ; with much love in his
heart to God and the ark of God, but with little strength
of mind or firmness and decision of purpose. His conduct
at this crisis may be contrasted with that of Moses on a
similar occasion.

When the Israelites, discouraged by the report of the
spies, refused to go up and take possession of the promised
land, and were condemned, in consequence, to wander for
forty years in the wilderness, — stung with remorse, they
resolved hastily to repair their fatal fault : " They rose up
early in the morning, and gat them up into the top of the
mountain, saying, Lo, we be here, and will go up unto
the place which the Lord hath promised : for we have
sinned/' Not only did Moses strenuously oppose their
resolution, — " It shall not prosper ; go not up, for the
Lord is not among you ; that ye be not smitten before

22 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

your enemies ;" he peremptorily refused either to lead
them himself, or to let the ark of God go with them :
" They presumed to go up unto the hill-top : nevertheless
the ark of the covenant of the Lord, and Moses, departed
not out of the camp/' The issue of the engagement was
disastrous to the Israelites ; for " the Amalekites came
down, and the Canaanites which dwelt in that hill, and
smote them, and discomfited them, even unto Hormah."
But, thanks to the moral courage of Moses, the ark of
God was safe (Numb. xiv. 40-45).

Eli is placed in circumstances not unlike those in which
Moses acted so nobly. The army of Israel is smarting
under a defeat sustained at the hands of the Philistines.
It is proposed to send for the ark of God : "Let us fetch
the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of Shiloh unto
us, that, when it cometh among us, it may save us out of
the hand of our enemies" (1 Sam. iv. 3). Eli being both

high priest and chief magistrate — for he is at the head of

civil affairs as well as ecclesiastical — has of course the
custody of the ark ; and has in fact, in virtue of his double
office, more power over it than even Moses himself could
possess. Evidently he has misgivings as to the step about
to be taken; and well he may, considering all things.
A heavy cloud of judgment overhangs himself and his
household. If the ark is to accompany the army, it must
be under the custody of his sons. Are they fit keepers
of it, vile as they have made themselves, and doomed to
perish miserably? Is the army itself engaged in so
righteous a warfare, and animated by so good a spirit, as
to warrant their carrying with them what, in better times,

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 23

was wont to be the pledge of victory ? Eli may well
hesitate ; and, when the message from the army reaches
him, it must cause him deep distress. Is he to consent ?
Hoplmi and Phinehas are ready to run every risk ; not
unwilling, perhaps, to seize the opportunity of somewhat
recovering their character, and gaining a little credit with
their countrymen. The elders and people are importunate.
The old man does not resist, though in the very act of
yielding his mind misgives him, and his heart cannot but
tremble for the ark o? God.

He is a godly man, and as kind as he is godly. The
brief notices of his connection with Samuel are singularly
affecting. He seems never to have forgotten the little
injustice he had inadvertently done to his mother, Hannah,
when he mistook her unwonted fervency in prayer for a
sign of intoxication : " Now Hannah, she spake in her
heart ; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard :
therefore Eli thought she had been drunken" (1 Sam. i.
1 3). Observe how promptly and eagerly he accepts her
explanation, and hastens to relieve her wounded spirit :
" No, my lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit : I
have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have poured
out my soul before the Lord" (ver. 15). "Then Eli
answered and said, Go in peace ; and the God of Israel
grant thee thy petition that thou hast asked of him.
And she said, Let thine handmaid find grace in thy sight.
So the woman went her way, and did eat, and her coun-
tenance was no more sad " (ver. 17, 18). Thus he turns
her weeping into joy.

And ever after he seems anxious to make up for that

24 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

first affront by his treatment of her son, whom the Lord
gave her in answer to her many prayers, and whom, in
terms of her own vow, she gave to the Lord. The child,
Samuel, is warmly welcomed by him when his mother
leaves him, while yet an infant, under his care ; and as
he "grows on, and is in favour both with the Lord, and
also" with men" (1 Sam. ii. 26), he shares the home, per-
haps even the chamber, of his venerable guardian ; — the
parents, as they pay their annual visit to Shiloh, receive
his blessing ; and the youthful servant of the sanctuary
is to Eli, as it might seem, instead of his own sons.

With what affectionate tenderness does Eli initiate
Samuel in the right manner of receiving the word of the
Lord ! Eli, old and well-nigh blind, is " laid down in his
place ;" and Samuel hearing himself called by name,
naturally starts up to ask what service his now almost
helpless friend may be requiring from him: "Here am
I, for thou didst call me/' " I called not, my son ; lie
down again;" is the simple reply, until the third repeti-
tion of the incident awakens Eli to its real meaning :
" Eli perceived that the Lord had called the child " (1
Sam. iii. 8). Nor is there any grudging in the old man's
bosom that he should be passed by, and another, a mere
child, chosen to receive one of those divine communications
which in those degenerate days had become so precious,
because so rare (ver. 1). On the contrary, we almost
seem to see the lighting up of his dim eye, and to feel
the throbbing of his heart, as with tenderest interest he
tells the favoured youth how to demean himself under so
high an honour: " Go, lie down: and it shall be, if he call

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 25

thee, that thou shalt say, Speak, Lord; for thy servant
heareth" (ver. 9) ; and then he quietly composes himself
to await the issue of the scene.

Ah ! little did he dream what the issue was to be !
Some fond thoughts he might have as to the sort of voice
or vision from on high likely to mark the beginning of a
child's — and such a child's — prophetic ministry. Some-
thing bright, something encouraging, something charged
with the fulness of dinne love and heavenly joy, will
probably form the appropriate subject of the Lord's first
message or address to so gracious a youth. Alas ! alas !
little thinks the old man that Samuel's office, like Jere-
miah's afterwards, is to open with denunciations of wrath
and judgment ; still less, that these denunciations are to
be directed against himself. Eli has been warned already
by a man of God, and warned in language of terrible dis-
tinctness, that he and his whole house are to be cut oif
with dishonour from the earth (1 Sam. ii. 27-36). Must
the warning be repeated ? and must it be through the lips
of the child he has so fondly cherished ? And must it be
the very first word these lips are to be inspired to utter
in the name of the Lord ? A hard and cruel trial this
might well be thought to be.

No wonder that " Samuel feared to show Eli the
vision," and that it was only after the most solemn and
urgent importunity on the part of Eli — " God do so to
thee, and more also, if thou hide anything from me" —
that he could find it in his heart to " tell him every whit,
and hide nothing from him/3 Nor would it have been
any wonder, if, on hearing such a message conveyed

26 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

through such a messenger, some little of the irritation of
wounded love had ruffled Eli's spirit, and some impatient
words had escaped from his mouth. But nothing of the
kind appears. The grey-haired saint of God is as a little
child, and meekly takes rebuke from the little child he
has himself nursed. Reversing the prophecy, " The child
shall die a hundred years old," — the man all but a hun-
dred years old is to die a child : for it is the " quiet
spirit and mild" of a little child that breathes in the
simple utterance, " It is the Lord ; let him do what
seemeth him good/'

* What a soul is Eli's ! Truly, his " soul is even as a
weaned child/' (Ps. cxxxi.) What else could have made
him so gentle when he heard, out of the mouth of a mere
babe, as it might seem, and one too who " had eaten of
his own meat and drunk of his cup, and had lain in his
bosom, and been unto him as a son/' such unmitigated
threatenings as these ? — " Behold, I will do a thing in
Israel, at which both the ears of every one that heareth
it shall tingle. I will perform against Eli all that I have
spoken concerning his house ; when I begin, I will also
make an end. For I have told him that I will judge his
house for ever for the iniquity which he knoweth ; because
his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not.
And therefore I have sworn unto the house of Eli, that
the iniquity of Eli's house shall not be purged with sacri-
fice nor offering for ever" (1 Sam. iii. 13, 14).

Think of Samuel, the child Samuel, having such a
message to deliver ! Think of Eli, the venerable Eli,
having such a message, so delivered, to receive ! No

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD, 27

doubt, his conscience testified that he had grievously sin-
ned, and deserved many stripes ; but severity so pitiless
as this — wrath, as it might seem, so unrelenting, after so
long a time of service, during the whole of which, how-
ever weak and indulgent he may have been to others, he
has himself been faithful to his God — might be felt as
treatment that it was very hard to understand, and
harder still to endure. He might almost have been
tempted to cry out with Cain, " My punishment is greater
than I can bear/' And that it should be the very hands
so often clasped in holy adoration between his own knees,
that were now selected to strike the blow, and the very
lips he had himself taught to lisp in prayer, that were to
pour forth the oracle of vengeance and of woe against
him — was it not a strange and sad aggravation of the
distress ? was it not, in a sense, like " seething a kid in
its mother's milk?"

But, " It is the Lord ; let him do what seemeth him
good." " Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him/'
What acquiescence is here ! what patience ! what faith !
There is no justifying of himself — nothing like charging
God foolishly. The old man's " sin is ever before him."
He acknowledges it all to the Lord. He owns the perfect
righteousness of the sentence. God is just in judging.
Eli's mouth is stopped. He is verily guilty. That he
should be thus rebuked and chastened is no more than
he deserves ; nay, it may even be fitting that the stroke
should come through that dear child, in whose opening
and expanding graciousness of character he has been apt,
perhaps, too readily to find comfort and compensation for

IVT.

28 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

the unbridled license of his own sons. For it could not
but be a more congenial task to Eli to train the docile
Samuel than to restrain unruly Phinehas and Hophni ;
and there might be something of retribution in the ar-
rangement, that the very first act of Samuel's ministry,
in the prophetic office for which Eli had with so fond
and deep an interest been preparing him, should be, to
denounce the parent's neglect of parental discipline and
duty, and open his eyes to all its inexcusable guilt. At
all events, Eli makes no complaint. There is no feeling
of even momentary resentment, either against God or
against Samuel. He sees nothing amiss, either in the
dreadful message or in the channel through which it
comes. He blames only himself. Samuel is as dear to
him as ever, although reluctantly the bringer of evil
tidings. And God is honoured by the exercise, not of a
mere stern and stubborn bravery, submitting sullenly to
an irrevocable and irresistible decree, but of a meek
faith ; — faith accepting judgment, and yet clinging to
and confiding in the very judge himself ; faith, in short,
still seeing, even in the God of judgment, a pacified and
reconciled God, — a father and a friend ! " 0 Lord, rebuke
me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot dis-
pleasure. Have mercy upon me, 0 Lord ; oh save me
for thy mercies' sake. The Lord hath heard the voice of
my weeping ; the Lord hath heard my supplication ; the
Lord will receive my prayer," (Ps. vi.)

Such a man is Eli, — so godly, so gracious and kind ;
the very " meekness and gentleness of Christ" might be

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 29

supposed to characterize him. But, alas ! he is deficient
in that quality which alone can give to all other good
dispositions their proper weight and value, — the quality
of which the Apostle Paul speaks when he says, " Add
to your faith, virtue/' or valour, fortitude, and moral
courage. His deficiency in tb's respect comes sadly out
in all the relations which he has to sustain as a ruler, —
in the State, in the Church, and in the Family.

1. Eli was head of the State. He was a judge in
Israel. He was the last but one in the succession of
judges or rulers, — coming after Samson as it is generally
thought, and having only Samuel as his successor; for
the kingly power soon superseded that of the judges, in
the person, first of Saul, and then of David. As a
judge, in his capacity of civil governor, Eli saw the affairs
of the Jewish commonwealth brought to the lowest ebb
of fortune. It is true, that little or nothing is recorded
of his administration; but in the last act of it, the war
waged with the Philistines, and in the way in which that
war is conducted, we see indications of imbecility not to
be mistaken. (1 Sam. iv.) There is an evident want

of due consideration and concert. The contest is ob-

•

viously begun rashly, without a previous appeal to God;
and the army marches without the divine sanction: (for
the first clause in the first verse of the chapter, " And the
word of the Lord came to all Israel/' is to be connected
with the previous chapter; it indicates the general ac-
ceptance of Samuel in his prophetic character, and has
nothing to do with the Philistian war.) The expedition,
then, wants that symbol of the divine presence which of

30 SCEIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

old was wont to strike terror into the foe, and to inspire
every heart in the host of Israel with holy zeal ; — accord-
ing to the usage described in the book of Numbers :
" And it came to pass, when the ark set forward, that
Moses said, Rise up, Lord, and let thine enemies be scat-
tered ; and let them that hate thee flee before thee. And
when it rested, he said, Return, O Lord, unto the many
thousands of Israel" (Numb. x. 35, 36). No such ringing
battle-cry, "Rise up, Lord/' is heard on this occasion;
and no glad note of peace concludes the fight. The sud-
den expedient, the desperate after-thought, of summon-
ing the ark to help in retrieving the disaster, only brings
out more sadly the absence of all sound and godly coun-
sel in the whole affair at the first; and the conduct of
Eli is throughout that of a habitual waverer. One thing
is clear, — as a ruler, he left the State on the very brink
of ruin.

2. As high priest, set over the affairs of the House of
God, he lets his weakness still more shamefully get the
better of him. The scandalous outrages and excesses
committed by his two sons when they were associated
with him in the priesthood, never could have taken place
had " things been done decently and in order." The law
as to offerings, and as to the several shares which the
altar, the priesthood, and the worshippers, were to have
in them, was clear enough, if due authority had been
put forth to enforce it; nor, with all their greed, could
Hophni and Phinehas have so used their flesh-hooks as to
make " men abhor the offering of the Lord," if there had
not been prevalent already a grievous laxity in the mere

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 31

routine of the tabernacle service. This laxity Eli must
have tolerated ; at least he wanted firmness to repress it
(1 Sam. ii. 1 2-1 7). Need we point to the still grosser
infamies, that made the holy place of the Most High
resemble the abominable dens of moral pollution to be
found in the heathen temples (ver. 22) ? Such foul
wickedness never could have been so practised by the
most abandoned of mankind, except under a state of
things implying the most deplorable misrule. We do
not speak of the actual misconduct of the miserable
young men themselves, who prostituted to these vile pur-
poses their priestly character and office; we found rather
on the mere fact, that misconduct like theirs was pos-
sible, as proving that the reins of spiritual government
must have fallen into the hands of one himself either
very wicked or very weak And as, in the case of Eli,
the former side of the alternative is out of the question —
for he was a holy man, and hated sin — we are forced to
conclude, that in his capacity of priest, as well as in that
of judge, he was the victim of indecision and imbecility.
3. But it is as a parent that he chiefly shows his
weakness ; and it is in that character that he is especially
reproved and judged. " Thou honourest thy sons above
me/' is the charge which the Lord brings against him
(chap. ii. 29). And yet Eli feared God, and had no
sympathy with his sons in their vile crimes. On the
contrary, he remonstrated with them faithfully : " Why
do ye such things? for I hear of your evil dealings by all
this people. Nay, my sons ; for it is no good report that
I hear : ye make the Lord's people to transgress. If one

32 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

man sin against another, the judge shall judge him ; but
if a man sin against the Lord, who shall entreat for him?"
(chap. ii. 23-25.) What more could he do? Instruction,
admonition, expostulation, persuasion, are all in vain.
The resources of his parental influence are exhausted.
What further remains to be tried ?

Ah ! he forgets that he is invested with parental autho-
rity— authority, in his case, backed and seconded by all
the powers of law and all the terrors of religion. Nay,
it is not so much that he forgets this, as that he has not
"nerve to act upon the recollection of it. He knows his
right and duty as a father ; but he weakly shrinks from
enforcing his right and performing his duty, out of false
tenderness and pity to his sons.

And what construction does God put upon his weak-
ness?— " Thou honourest thy sons above me." Is it not
a harsh construction ? Is no allowance to be made for
his parental feelings ? He does not mean deliberately to
prefer his sons to God ; and if he fails to execute the full
measure of severity that their offences merit, and his po-
sition warrants, is it not hard to ascribe the failure to a
want of respect for God ? Might it not rather be allowed
to pass as the venial, and even amiable, infirmity of pa-
rental love ?

No. For it is not really parental love, according to
any right view of that pure affection, but self-love at
bottom that Eli indulges, and self-love in one of its least
respectable, forms. It is himself that Eli is unwilling to
mortify, not his sons. It is to himself that he is tender,
not to them. And when it is considered that his selfish

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 33

feebleness and fondness show themselves in his neglect
of parental discipline even in matters in which the divine
honour is immediately concerned, it is not too much to
say that he is preferring his children to his God.

How offensive to God must be a parent's want of firm-
ness in enforcing his authority ! For what, in fact, is
that authority but the authority of God himself? God
has delegated his own authority to the parent ; and, so
far as the parent has any right of rule at all over his
child, he has it as representing God. In the exercise of
it, therefore, he has properly no discretion. If he rule as
God, he must rule for God ; and to let any partial leaning
of the natural heart towards his child tempt him to act
as if it were otherwise, — as if he ruled in his own right
and for himself, and not in God's right and for God, and
might, in consequence, please himself or his child as he
sees fit, — this is evidently to usurp a power independent
of that of God, — it is to dishonour the Lord of all.

How this sin of Eli's, in his treatment of his sons,
commenced, we cannot tell ; probably in their early child-
hood, when their evil dispositions began to show them-
selves, and he spared the rod and withheld correction.
What his sin was, is very precisely pointed out ; — " he
restrained them not." Doubtless he taught them ; surely
he prayed for them ; he certainly exhibited to them the
example of a holy and blameless life ; — but he restrained
them not. At first, he might have restrained them with
comparatively a very gentle hand : a firm voice, a decided
look, might have been enough ; a few instances of patient,

persevering determination, with an absence of all angry
c

34 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

passion provoking them to wrath, might have taught the
little rebels how hopeless it was to think of making their
father yield to them ; judicious kindness, not being bitter
against them, would have made them feel the relief and
gladness of yielding to him ; and thereafter he might
have guided them with his eye. Failing at that first
stage to form in them the habit of obedience, Eli's task
became of course more difficult as his sons grew in strength
and stature, as well as in force of will. The wayward-
ness and impetuosity of early youth, succeeding to the
insubordination of spoiled and fondled childhood, presented
a stouter aspect of resistance or defiance. Still he might
have restrained them ; his parental resources were not
yet exhausted ; they had not yet outgrown the power of
the parental arm, nor could they yet dispense with the
support of parental love. He has a hold over them still
by many ties, if only he will summon resolution for the
task of first thoroughly studying their characters, and
then vigorously and wisely using bit and bridle, if need
be, to keep them in. It may be a struggle ; but calm
consistency will gain the day. For a parent's rule com-
mends itself to the conscience, as a parent's kindness
touches the heart ; and an effort put forth even at the
last hour, in faith and prayer, to resume the reins of
parental discipline, will have the countenance of God, and
will not fail of success. But, alas for Eli ! This second
opportunity also is allowed to pass. His sons have be-
come men ; they have left the parental roof; they have
families of their own ; they take rank on their own ac-
count in the world ; they hold office in the Church. They

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD.> 35

are their own masters now, and, availing themselves of
their liberty, they let loose their unruly passions and
make themselves vile. Still Eli should have restrained
them ; for it is expressly mentioned, th»< his not restraining
them even then was his sin. He had power to restrain
them. He had the power every parent has, when his
children make themselves incurably vile, — he could dis-
own them, discountenance them, solemnly renounce their
fellowship, and cast them off. He had power also as
their ruler in the state, and their superior in the priest-
hood. And every consideration of decency and good
order, as well as of .godliness and virtue, should have
made him use his power to the utmost, and adopt the
most decided measures, when they were making the very
sanctuary a foul scandal. But he had not the heart ; he
could not bring himself to be severe. Even God's highest
honour must give place to the indulgence of his fond and
feeble dotage. And the issue is, that " the iniquity of
Eli's house shall not be purged for ever."

It is an issue, as to all the parties concerned, sufficiently
disastrous.

For the sons of Eli, whom " he did not restrain/' what
hope is there? Sudden destruction comes upon them.
There may be a show and semblance of adventurous pa-
triotism in their readiness to bear the ark, as a forlorn
hope, into the midst of Israel's renewed battle with the
Philistines. But, with all their daring, they carry into
the fight a weight of guilt and a crushing sentence of
wrath, that cannot but be fatal. They perish miserably.

36 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

Will it alleviate the pang of a sudden and violent death
— will it allay the burning torments of the fire that is
not quenched — to think of their indulgent father, who
did not restrain them ? Eli may well be cut to the heart
as the reflection comes across him, that possibly, had he
restrained his sons, they might not have made themselves
so vile and perished so miserably. But will any such ,
reflection avail them ? On the contrary, will not the f
very fondness of Eli, which they have so foully abused, \ ,
add a scorpion-sting to the gnawing of the worm that I
"dieth not ? In spite of all his ill-judged leniency and
want of firmness to restrain them, he w^as the kindest of
parents and the holiest of men. These unnatural and
ungrateful sons knew this right well. Many a holy
thought was associated with their father's image ; many
a tender tear ; many a fervent prayer. The very mild-
ness of his pleading with them — " Why do ye such things ?
Nay, my sons ; it is no good report that I hear" — that
gentleness which at the time only emboldened them to
scoff and sneer — must enhance their agony when their
sin finds them out ; and whatever fault his extreme pa-
ternal fondness may be in him, and however sharply it
may be visited upon him, assuredly it is not fitted to be
even so much as a drop of cold water to their parched
tongues, when in hell they lift up their eyes, being in
torments.

Of the utter ruin of Eli's household we need not speak.
The priesthood passes away from his family ; the govern-
ment is upon other shoulders ; his seed are a beggared
race. The last incident recorded concerning his cliildren

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 87

is most profoundly touching ; it is the birth of his grand-
son, the child of his son Phinehas. The unhappy mother
hears of her husband Phinehas, fallen in the disastrous
fight; and of her father-in-law Eli, suddenly dead. She
cannot stand the shock. She bows her head and the
pangs of premature travail are upon her. The women
about her say, " Fear not, for thou hast born a son."
But there is no joy for her because a man-child is born
into the world. She is a godly woman, broken-hearted
by the sin and fate of an ungodly husband. She is like-
minded with her husband's godly father, Eli. When the
women tell her of the son she has born, " she answers
not, neither regards it." But with her dying breath she
names the child " Ichabod ;" for she says " The glory is
departed from Israel, because the ark of God is taken."

The whole house of Eli is a ruin ; — the priesthood de-
graded ; the nation defeated ; the ark taken ; and, amid
the wreck, his own family broken up, and the sole sur-
vivor launched on the stream of time with an ominous
name, and under a heavy curse. And all this in connec-
tion with one of the meekest and holiest of the saints of
God ! It is a terrible lesson. And, in keeping with it,
is the lesson taught by the melancholy notice of his
own decease.

For in truth there is not anywhere in the Bible —
and, if not there, certainly nowhere else — a more affect-
ing picture than that of the aged Eli, sitting on the
watch for tidings of the disastrous battle which was to
be fought on the day when he allowed the ark to be

38 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

carried from its home at Shiloli to the camp of Israel at
Eben-ezer.

He had many things to make his heart tremble. He
had a deep stake in the fight, on which issues most vital
to him, both public and domestic, depended. It seems
to have been a critical death-struggle between the two
armies, which was to decide the fate of their respective
nations ; and Eli, as a patriot, must have had many an
anxious thought as he brooded over the alternative of
his country's liberty or bondage, which one brief and
.bloody hour might fix for ages. Nor could he be in-
sensible to the fate of the many thousand brave hearts
that, ere the setting of the sun, must cease to beat, and
the many mothers in Israel that must be made to mourn.
And, besides these public cares, he had his two sons on
that field of battle, with a dark and heavy prophecy of
judgment hanging over their heads ; which, whatever
they in their profligate impiety might think of it, their
devout, though, alas ! too fond father, could never dismiss
for a moment from his memory.

It was not any of these things, however, that moved
the old man most deeply : " His heart trembled for the
ark of God."

For this, he sat upon a seat by the wayside watching.
And when he heard the noise of the tumult in the city
— as the man of Benjamin, running out of the army,
with clothes rent and earth on his head, came into the
city, and told the woful tale which made all the city
cry out — the old man stretched forth his palsied arms
and strained his sightless eyes. "What is there done,

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 39

my son?" is his eager question to the messenger. "And
the messenger answered and said, Israel is fled before the
Philistines, and there hath been also f . great slaughter
among the people, and thy two sons also, Hophni and
Phinehas, are dead, and the ark of God is taken" (1 Sam.
iv. 17).

. The messenger of evil delivered his tidings ; and his
hearer could stand the accumulation of horrors — Israel
fled before the Philistines — a great slaughter among the
people — ay, and his two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, dead
also. But when the crowning calamity burst upon him
— " the ark of God is taken " — Eli could bear up no
longer. Bending under the weight of ninety and eight
years, and crushed by the stunning blow of this disastrous
intelligence, " he fell from off the seat backward by the
side of the gate, and his neck brake, and he died ; for he
was an old man, and heavy."

No words could add to the pathos of this sad and
simple announcement. It is all the epitaph which Scrip-
ture has for one who had spent nearly a century beside
the altar, and for somewhat less than half that time had
occupied the seat of power — for " he had judged Israel
forty years." Such was the end of so protracted a life ;
thus miserably died this man of God.

Many practical remarks suggest themselves in connec-
tion with the painful history which we have been consi-
dering— remarks applicable to parents and members of
families, to individual Christians, to the ungodly, and
to all.

40 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

1. It is a most emphatic warning that the fate of Eli
gives to parents ; and not to parents only, but to all who
have influence or authority of any sort in families. "Who-
ever in a family has any power at all to restrain evil,
and fails to use that power to the uttermost, incurs a
responsibility from which a thoughtful man would shrink.
The power may be of various kinds ; it may be superior
strength, or superior station, or weight of character, or
example, or that control which seasonable and tender
affection wields, and gratitude gladly owns. But what-
ever it be, let it be faithfully and fully used. The
positive duty lying upon all heads and members of house-
holds, to seek one another's good in the highest and most
spiritual sense, is not more binding, and scarcely more
important, than the negative duty of restraining one
another's evil. Nor is this a harsh or invidious task.
It may be done with all the meekness and gentleness of
Christ. And the secret of its being rightly and effectively
done is this : Let no one, let nothing, be honoured above
God ; let God be honoured above all. Let your inter-
course with children, or brothers, or sisters, or domestics,
or any with whom you dwell together in families, be
upon this principle. Honour God, — honour God su-
premely,— honour God alone. Consider not merely what
may be best for them, but what, in every instance, is
due to God. This will prevent compromise, concession,
and fond indulgence on your part ; while it will place
your power of restraining evil on the highest of all
grounds of advantage, — the law and the will of God
himself.

HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 41

2. Let individual Christians ponder the lesson of Eli's
character. Much, very much, there is in it to be admired
and imitated, especially the grace and godliness of his
walk, the tenderness of his affections, and the manner in
which he takes the divine rebuke. But his defects — or,
let us say at once, his sins — are recorded for our especial
warning. The first of these, his want of firmness, is a
very sad one ; it mars and hinders the exercise of every
other grace, and stamps upon the whole man the charac-
ter of one like a wave of the sea, driven by the winds
and tossed. " Add to your faith virtue/' or moral courage,
is a precept to be again and again repeated and pondered
well. But another fault in Eli is that which is so em-
phatically rebuked by God, — he honoured his sons above
God ; or, in other words, he did not honour God with an
entirely undivided and undistracted heart. " How can
ye believe," said our Lord to the Jews, "which receive
honour one of another, and seek not the honour that
cometh from God only ? " And if seeking honour from
any but God is a fatal obstacle in the way of guileless
faith, — giving honour to any besides God is a serious and
dangerous hinderance in the way of holy obedience.

3. Let the ungodly tremble. Let them look on, and
see how God deals with sin in his own people. Does he
spare sin in them ? Does he spare them in their sins ?
Behold the severity of God in his treatment of the good
and gracious Eli, and tremble at the thought of what
may be his treatment of you ! " If the righteous scarcely
be saved, where shall the ungodly and sinners appear?"
Or as a greater than Eli reasoned, when, bearing the

42 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

cross up the hill of Calvary, he pointed to his own suf-
ferings for sin as a pledge and presage of judgment
against sinners, — " If these things be done in the green
tree, what shall be done in the dry ? "

4. And, finally, let all lay to heart the irrevocable
decree and determination of God, that sin shall not pass
unpunished ; let them look and see the end of the un-
godly, while they stand in awe at the chastisement of
the just. Whatever excuse the wicked may frame out
of the weakness of those who should have restrained
them ; and whatever promise the just may plead, as war-
ranting assurance and good hope through grace ; the law
of the divine procedure is fixed, as announced to Eli and
his sons : " I said indeed that thy house, and the house
of thy father, should walk before me for ever ; but now
the Lord saith, Be it far from me ; for them that honour
me I will honour, and they that despise me shall be
'lightly esteemed" (1 Sam. ii. 30).

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 43

III.

ELI— A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE
ARK OF GOD.

" His heart trembled for the ark of God."— 1 SAM. iv. 13.
PART SECOND.

IN the circumstances, as we have seen, Eli's heart might
well tremble, and could not but tremble, for the ark of
God. That sacred symbol was put in peril; nor was
there anything, either in the composition of the army or
in the character of the fight, to allay the apprehension
that might be awakened. On the contrary, whether he
considered into what hands the ark had fallen, when it
was carried into the camp under the charge of his
unhappy sons; or pondered on the circumstances that
led to its being sent for, and the use to which it was to
be applied; the old man had more than one good reason
for apprehension and alarm.

The same reasons, alas! might cause the heart of
many an Eli now to tremble for the ark of God; whe-
ther the holy veteran looked to the sort of company
which has assumed, or accepted, the guardianship of that
sacred symbol; or to the exigencies which demand, and
the motives which prompt; the risking or committing of
what is God's, on the uncertain field of human contro-
versy and strife. Our subject may thus branch out into

44 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

two topics: — I. The heart trembling for the ark of God
on account of the hands that bear or defend it ; and, II.,
The same anxiety caused by the occasions and circum-
stances which serve to bring it forward in battle, and
to peril it on the issue. The first of these topics will
chiefly occupy our attention, the second being but
briefly noticed.

I. The mixed and motley character, the very miscel-
laneous composition, of the army in whose hands the ark
of God seems to be placed, may well cause the heart of
an Eli to tremble. Let any thoughtful man cast his eye
along the ranks — alas! how broken and disordered — of
the host that should be fighting the Lord's battle, and
can his heart fail to tremble?

In the first place, there are those whose mere bodily
presence is all that can be reckoned on, — the lukewarm
and indifferent, — the treacherous and false, — the men
who have joined the standard on compulsion, or in the
crowd, or to serve a purpose, — disguised spies and trait-
ors in the enemy's interests, or soldiers of fortune, fight-
ing every one for himself. " Unto the wicked God saith,
What hast thou to do to declare my statutes, or that
thou shouldest take my covenant in thy mouth?" " Thy
people/' says Jehovah to our Lord, the Captain of our
salvation, the Conqueror out of Zion, the Ruler in the
midst of his enemies — " thy people shall be willing in
the day of thy power." They shall be all volunteers, —
no pressed men among them; they shall be all in ear-

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 45

nest. That indeed will be the day of his power, when
his people are thus willing; the day of his power in a
double sense; — the day when, in the first place, he makes
them all willing, with the rod of discipline and doctrine
wielded by his own Spirit, — thinning perhaps the columns,
yet by that very process inspiring new courage and
giving new compactness to those that remain; and when,
secondly, he uses that band of brothers for mightier con-
quests and triumphs than have ever yet been dreamed of.
Gideon's proclamation, " Whosoever is fearful and afraid,
let him return and depart;" ay, and besides this appeal
to conscience, some Gideon-like test, some trial appointed
by the Lord himself, whether it be the lapping of water
or the baptism of fire; must go before that " breaking of
the yoke of Zion's burden, the staff of his shoulder and
the rod of his oppressor/' which is to be as another day
of Midian : " for every battle of the warrior is with con-
fused noise, and garments rolled in blood, but this shall
be with burning and fuel of fire."*

It is no strife this for mere hireling mercenaries; or

* Judges vii. ; Isa. ix. 4, 5, where this comparison occurs between the victory
of Christ and that of Gideon, in immediate connection, on the one hand, with
that brief picture of restored peace after successful war which goes before :
" Thou hast multiplied the nation, and increased to him the joy (marginal read-
ing— or, ivhosejoy thou hadst not increased) : they joy before thee according to
the joy in harvest, and as men rejoice when they divide the spoil ;" and, on the
other hand, with that glorious doxology or song of praise that follows (ver. 6, 7) :
" Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given : and the government shall be
upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The
Mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Of the increase of
his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and
upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with
justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will per-
form this."

46 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

for reluctant recruits, enlisted in a fit of temporary
excitement, and almost unawares, and now kept in the
camp only because they are ashamed, or are not allowed,
to draw back; or for officious allies, encumbering the
real force with their intrusive self-sufficiency. The Lord
needs no such aid for any purpose of his, — his own zeal
will perform it; and it will be a zeal whose cleansing
and sifting power his own troops may have to experience
in the first instance, before he pours out its fury on his
foes. They are not all accessions that the Church
receives, as its numbers are filled up from among the
people of the land. The " mixed multitude" who go up
with the children of Israel out of Egypt, " fall a lusting "
themselves, and spread discontent and weeping through-
out all the tribes; and when the sacred deposit is in the
custody of such hands, the godly man may indeed trem-
ble for the ark of God. These are they who, if they are
not conscious and wilful hypocrites, making a gain of
godliness, yet almost seem to think that they compliment
God by giving in their adherence to his cause, and con-
senting to take charge of his ark; and make no scruple
about bearing it ostentatiously before them into the very
heart of the enemy's country, and the thickest throng of
the ungodly; having no fear, no misgiving, as to their
being able to bear it in safety through, or to retrieve
and repair any temporary damage it may sustain.

Oh! how does our heart tremble for the ark of the
Lord, when we see so many lightly taking upon them
the Christian name, and making the Christian profession
with little of anything like an adequate and serious

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 47

sense of what so solemn a pledge implies. Alas! how
many do we see rushing to the Lord's table to-day, and
frequenting the haunts of vanity to-morrow, — exposing
their Christian character, in the very flush and bloom of
its newly-budding freshness, to the withering blight of a
worldly atmosphere and worldly conversation. They
profess, and perhaps feel, not a little devotion in the
sanctuary, although at home, and in the social circle,
they make it too plain to their ungodly companions that
there is really no very essential difference between them.
They refuse to come out and be separate, So as to shun
and shrink from the very touch of the unclean thing;
while still they dream of preserving sufficiently entire all
the pure grace and holy beauty of their blood-washed
raiment, and all the tenderness and truth of their filial
reverence and love, as the sons and daughters of the
Lord God Almighty. Is it any wonder, then, that the
cause of God languishes, and conversions are few, and
iniquity abounds, and the adversary waxes bold, and
many an aged believer's heart — but lately perhaps
cheered with the hope of a better day, as the Lord
seemed to be leading his Church out into the wilderness,
and there reviving her — begins again to tremble for the
ark of God!

But, secondly, there are those in the camp who are
not thus insincere and false, — who are, nevertheless, dis-
abled and enfeebled by some rankling inward wound,
some corroding grief, some sad sense of insecurity, or of
a doubtful right to be themselves there, and to have the

48 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

ark among them. On the occasion before us, the Israel-
ites had just been smitten in a previous battle with the
Philistines; and it was as defeated men that they were
about to take the field again. True, they had now got pos-
session of what was wont to be a pledge of victory. Their
elders, in proposing to bring down the ark of the cove-
nant of the Lord out of Shiloh, had assured them that
whenever it came it would save them out of the hands of
their enemies; and the multitude, ready to grasp at any
lie and trust in any spell, had welcomed with mad joy
-the consecrated symbol, and made the earth ring again
with their shouting. But were there no sad countenances
and grave looks, as this ill-timed scene of premature
exultation went on? Were there no ears on which the
rude clamour of that noisy mirth struck as a funeral
knell? And when the first drunken and senseless fit of
enthusiasm was over, were there none among the sh out-
ers themselves whose hearts began to misgive them, —
who, hurried along in the first tumultuous burst of the
contagious rapture, had since got leisure to reflect, and
found too good cause to despond?

We may imagine some such little group of thoughtful
men, as the shout arose, or at least as the shout fell, open-
ing to one another their minds, and exchanging words of
fear : ' It is so far well to see the army in good heart,
and, instead of the lamentations of defeat, to hear the
brave note of defiance again; but is all this confidence
justly warranted? The ark, indeed, is with us; but in
what spirit has it been sent for, and in what spirit re-
ceived? If it be right to take it down with us into the

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 49

second battle, it must have been wrong to go without it
to the first. By thus seeking to have God in the midst
of us now, we confess that he was not in the midst of
us before, and that it was in our own strength that we
fought. Have we repented of our sin? Is it out of a
returning sense of duty that we now hasten to repair our
sad omission; or is it by a mere feeling of superstition,
and on the pressure of extreme necessity, that we are
driven to avail ourselves of this high refuge ? If so, can
we expect that it will stand us in stead? Its presence
has not always saved our armies in time past ; nor will it
now, if it be all that we have to look to, — if there be no
searching of heart among us, no humiliation before God,
and no turning with weeping and lamentation to him.
The elders themselves, in the proposal they made to us
to send for the ark in our straits, submitted to us a solemn
question in reference to our former defeat (ver. 3) : "Where-
fore hath the Lord smitten us to-day before the Philis-
tines?" Has that question been duly weighed and faithfully
answered ? If not, with all the security which the ark of
God is fitted and designed to give— ay, and that multi-
plied a hundredfold — can we dare' to hope for a better
issue in the enterprise which we are about to undertake
to-morrow ? '

Thus, they that feared the Lord might have much talk
one with another, both as to the state of mind in the
army generally, and as to their own condition in particu-
lar. And if such a feeling of doubt, respecting others or
respecting themselves, began to spread like a panic
through the ranks, it was they, and not the enemy, that

50 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

had the best reason to be afraid. The Philistines might
rally and recover themselves after the first surprise occa-
sioned by this new device: for they might shrewdly sus-
pect that it was no honest faith in their God that moved
the Israelites to resort to it, but the mere helplessness of
despair ; and they might gather courage in the end, rather
than lose it. The Israelites themselves, however, or at
least the serious and thoughtful among them, could
scarcely get so easily over the consciousness of guilt and
of guile; and sympathizing in these sentiments even at a
distance, as the godly Eli could not fail to do, what mar-
vel if, as he sat and watched, his heart trembled for the
ark of God?

Is there anything analogous to this state of feeling
among us? — Let all, as they read, inquire; and let us
inquire with reference not onty to our standing as indi-
vidual believers, but to the congregation with which we
are associated, the community to which we belong, and
the Church of Christ generally. Let us consult first and
principally our own personal experience. We have failed,
perhaps, hitherto once, or it may be more than once, in
maintaining the Lord's cause, and resisting the enemies of
our peace. We have yielded in the struggle with our
evil hearts of unbelief, and with the world, the devil, and
the flesh. We have sustained a sad and shameful defeat,
and left the field of battle thickly strewed with the frag-
ments of our shivered shields and swords, — our broken
promises, and resolutions, and vows, — our unanswered,
because unwatched and unheeded prayers.

Is this indeed our case? Are our consciences thus

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 5 1

laden with the sense of recent backsliding? It may be
some specific instance of unfaithfulness that it vexes us
to think of; or it may be a certain general listlessness
and languor and spiritual declension of which we have
to complain. Let us affectionately ask one another, let
us faithfully ask ourselves, Wherefore is it so? Is it the
remembrance of particular occasions on which we are
conscious that we have compromised our truth and in-
tegrity, dissembled our principles, connived at sin, or
treated it lightly, or made a mock at it; failed, in trying
circumstances, to testify for God; wounded tender con-
sciences, or cast a stumbling-block in the way of anxious
inquirers, or stifled awakenings in careless souls, by our
inconsistency, our worldly conformity, our easy walk, our
abuse of our Christian liberty; — is it any such remem-
brance that haunts us? Or is it, what is even more dis-
tressing,— a certain vague feeling of apathy, for which we
can scarcely assign any tangible cause, that oppresses us,
— a want of interest in sacred things, — a dreary drowsi-
ness in poring over the word and drawing near to the
throne of grace, — a kind of lethargy, in short, coldly
stealing and insinuating itself through all our spiritual
frame? Have we to confess that we are in the position
of beaten men in Christ's warfare, or of men who have
given way? And are we engaging in any holy service —
coming, let us say, to the Lord's table — in something of
the same spirit in which the Israelites sent for the Lord's
ark, — expecting, somehow, to be the better for this sacra-
ment being administered to us, as they imagined they
would fight the better for that symbol being among them;

52 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

and determined, on the strength of this holy ordinance,
to make a firmer stand in the next trial of our courage,
and leave no inglorious buckler on the field? And yet,
all the time we are not quite at ease, — we have our mis-
givings and alarms. The unanswered question, " Where-
fore did the Lord smite us before the Philistines ?" stands
ominously out as a barrier against our complete enlarge-
ment, confidence, and security.

But why, let us ask again, why is it still an un-
answered question? Why should it be an unanswered
'question any longer? Even now the Lord is ready to
answer it. Even now he will search and try us. He
will unfold to us the real cause of any controversy he has
with us, or of any failures and defeats on our part, in
our walking with him, and our warring for him. Have
any of us been offering in earnest the prayer of the
psalmist : " Search me, 0 God, and know my heart ; try
me, and know my thoughts: and see if there be any
wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting?"
And may not some of us truly say, that in a way we
little thought of — by terrible things in righteousness —
the Lord has been answering that prayer to us? Would
that we were all made willing now, under the searching
of his providence as well as of his word and Spirit — for
he is searching us very sharply this day — to have the*
wound of our souls thoroughly probed, and not slightly
healed ; each man among us submitting the plague of his
own heart to be dealt with — oh! how faithfully and yet
how tenderly — by him who is the holy God, but who is
also to us in Christ Jesus a reconciled and loving Father.

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 53

See, brother, he waiteth to be gracious. He has balm
for every wound, blood for every sin, healing for every
backsliding, and a gracious reception and free love for
each and all, however miserable on account of the great-
ness of their guilt or the stony hardness of their heart,
who, with all that great guilt and that hard heart, will
only so far honour, and trust, and gratify him, as let
him take the guilt away and turn the smitten rock with-
in into a fountain of tears.

Thus repenting and doing our first works, returning
anew to God, and embracing anew his promises of full
and free reconciliation, by all means let us send for the
ark; by all means let us come to the sacrament; it will
do us good now. No matter for our past defeat, — we
shall be more than conquerors now. And it will be no
vain and idle shout of boasting that lifts us. up, as if a
chest of shittim-wood, or this covered table and these
elements of bread and wine, could save us; but the deep
and grateful consciousness of our having, not the seal and
symbol only of God's presence, but God himself in very
truth, in all the fulness of his redeeming love and all the
power of his quickening Spirit, in us and among us; —
this will so inspire a calm serenity, and humble, holy re-
solution, as to strike real, and it may be salutary, fear
into the consciences of the enemies of the truth, and
satisfy aged Eli, that, so far as this particular cause of
anxiety is concerned, his heart need no more tremble for
the ark of God.

Would to God that all of us individually, all the con-
gregations of the Church, and our beloved Church her-

54 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

self, were thus brought low, that we might be exalted, —
thus weakened, that we might be strengthened in the
Lord! For who can shut his eyes to the fact, that even
since the Lord began to deal with us, and with the Church,
as in these last years he has been dealing, there has been
too much of human boasting and human confidence, —
too much noise and shouting? The high testimony which
we have been honoured to bear for Christ, and the great
things which he has done for us ; the liberty and enlarge-
ment which he has granted to us, and the liberality and
love which he has called forth among us; the approving
voice of other Churches, and of all our missionaries in
other lands; our door of access to the people at home;
nay, even the partial droppings of the dew of the Holy
Spirit on our assemblies and flocks; the prosperity of
so many of our congregations ; the very persecutions
which have visited others; — all these things we have
been too apt to regard very much as the Israelites re-
garded the arrival of the ark among them; we have
exulted when our adversaries seemed to be startled and
surprised ; and we have congratulated one another, as if
the warfare were accomplished and the victory were al-
ready ours.

Is it in rebuke of such untoward and untimely lifting
up of our hearts, that the great Head of the Church is
chastening us, — that symptoms of disorder are showing
themselves here and there, and masters in Israel are cut
down ? May the Lord himself sanctify these troubles !
Everywhere may clamour cease, and deeply may the
question be pondered, and fairly may it be met in refer-

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 55

ence both to the past and the present : " Wherefore hath
the Lord smitten us?" For, assuredly, until that great
outstanding question be disposed of, as regards individuals,
congregations, and the Church at large — whatever zeal
there may be, whatever enthusiasm, whatever wise plans
and bold doings — the heart of an aged and godly Eli
cannot cease to tremble for the ark of God.*

Once more, in the third place, let us take yet another,
and that the most favourable view of the parties in whose
hands the ark has come to be placed. — Let us suppose
them to be neither hypocrites and mere formalists on the
one hand, nor backsliders and men of doubtful position
on the other. Let them be men of truest conscience and
tenderest walk before God in Christ. Still, compassed
about as they are with manifold infirmities, and liable to
err and stumble at every step they take, — how shall they
carry the precious burden safe along the rough road, or
across the channel of the stormy sea, or by the way of
the howling wilderness, or through the rage and din of
hostile crowds ? For it is a delicate and tender, as well
as a costly deposit that is committed to their charge,
easily susceptible of injury, — apt to be soiled and tar-
nished if the dust of earth reach it, or the very wind of
heaven be suffered to visit it too roughly.

The essential holiness of God, — do we rightly appre-

* This whole passage I have thought it best to leave as it was originally
written, although its application is partly local and temporary, having reference
to a time of private bereavement and public loss (April and May, 1845) — a time,
moreover, when men's minds in the Church to which the author belongs were
not a little exercised in the manner here indicated.

56 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

hend what it is ? And have we any adequate impression
of that holiness as imparted and communicated to what-
ever is his ? The name, the word, the day, the house of
the Lord, — whatsoever he vindicates and challenges to
himself, not by the right of creation merely, but by that
of redemption through the blood of his Son, and renewal
through the operation of his Spirit ; these things, that
thus belong to God our Saviour — how venerable are they,
and how awful ! And it is these glories and wonders of
his grace and power that he commits into our hands, to
J>e defended and to be displayed.

Ah ! my brother, if indeed you are a believer in Jesus,
consider how much of what is God's you carry about with
you wherever you go ! — your body and your spirit, which
are his, — your character and reputation, which are his, —
your talents, which are his, — your very life, which is now
altogether his ! His honour, and the interests of his
kingdom, are now bound up with everything you say
and do. Not a plan or purpose you can form but must
affect something that is his ; — every hour you spend is a
portion of his time, — eveiy mite you cast into whatsoever
treasury is his property !

For it is not with us now as it was with the Israelites
of old. They might place the ark in comparative security
in the midst of their close and compact ranks, where not
a finger of the enemy could touch and pollute it, until all
its defenders were slain. Man after man might be smit-
ten, and phalanx after phalanx might be cut down or
scattered to the winds ; and though the danger, becoming
more imminent every moment, might make the heart of

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 57

one who witnessed it tremble more and more, not a pro-
fane or unhallowed breath could sully the sacred symbol
till its last guardians, the wretched Hophni and Phinehas,
had fallen. But in the Christian army, what of God's is
intrusted to men's care, is so diffused and circulated
through all the troops, that not a tongue can speak, nor
a limb move, nor the poorest soldier in the utmost ex-
tremity of the lines be wounded, or turn his back, or lay
down his arms, without instant damage to the holy trust
which is committed more or less to all. And how sensi-
tive to the slightest shock is the holiness of all belonging
to God that you have to handle and to bear about with
you ! The smallest rent mars that seamless coat, woven
from the top throughout, which is the uniform of all
Christ's volunteers, — the faintest stain shows itself on
that clear bright name with which each forehead is sealed !

' Ah ! who may venture to undertake such responsi-
bility, as this ? Who is sufficient for these things ? Let
me never open my mouth for Christ, or lift my hand for
Christ, or stir my foot for Christ, lest inadvertently I
offend, and be found hindering instead of furthering the
cause which I love, — blemishing instead of adorning the
doctrine which I believe, — discrediting instead of magni-
fying the only name under heaven which I care to honour,
because it is the only name under heaven given among
men whereby I, or any sinner like me, can be saved/

Nay, but, brother, inactivity, reserve, hanging back,
will not mend your position. You have got your post
assigned to you ; and whether you decline to act at all,
or act amiss, the jewel of Christ's crown which you have

58 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

in charge is in either way compromised. Nor have you
any choice, or any liberty to stand aloof. Necessity is
laid upon you. Woe is unto you if you preach not the
gospel ! Woe is unto you if you testify not for Christ I
Woe is unto you if you speak not to your ungodly neigh-
bour's conscience, and care not for his soul ! Woe is unto
you if you visit not the fatherless and widows in their
affliction ! Woe is unto you if you speak not a word in
season to him that is weary ! You have your task, your
office, your ministry, allotted to you, whether as a public
functionary or as a private member of the Church ; and
if you undertake it with fear, — if your heart trembles for
the ark of God, which you feel yourself to be so incompe-
tent to handle, — ask yourself, would either it or you be
at all the safer were you to refuse to handle it at all ?

Let me put myself now for an instant in the position
of an onlooker or watcher, like the aged Eli ; and what
might be my thoughts, as I gaze, not on the faithless or
the faltering part of the Lord's army, but on his true and
earnest adherents ?

Do I see any living for themselves alone, — caring for
their own souls, — apparently finding food and refresh-
ment in ordinances, and striving to have a close walk
with God — while yet there is no sign of their talcing
any special interest in any department of the Lord's work,
or charging themselves with any specific duty with refer-
ence to any one in particular of their fellow-sinners around
them ? I ask, if, with all their devout assiduity of personal
and private piety, their souls are prospering and in health ?

A GODLY MAN TKEMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 59

Ah ! the complaint is, " My leanness, my leanness ! " And
when I consider the selfish, secluded, isolated, and indolent
character of their devotions, I cease to wonder, I simply
mourn ; and, having a regard to those very spiritual inter-
ests of their own which they seem exclusively to care for, —
more even than to the good cause which they are sinfully
neglecting, — my heart trembles for the ark of God.

Do I see any who are keepers of the vineyards of
others, and are not keeping their own ; any spiritual busy-
bodies in other men's matters, and idlers in their own;
any who are tempted to put an officious and bustling
energy in the Lord's work in the place of deep experi-
mental searching of the Lord's word; any, in short, who
find it easier to exhaust themselves for whole days in
active service than to pass a still and silent hour in soli-
tary prayer? Ah ! I may cease to wonder that such in-
cessant pains should issue in such scanty fruit; and, with
special reference even to those public concerns which such
persons seem to prefer to their own spiritual well-being,
my desponding heart trembles for the ark of God.

Where, then, shall this trembling heart find rest ? I
pass in review before me the whole muster-roll of the
tried and tested army of the Lord. I take the cham-
pions and captains one after another. I rely on the
mature experience of many a hoary veteran. I hail the
fresh ardour of many an eagle-eyed recruit. But as, one
after another, they take up the seemingly desperate battle,
and one after another give some melancholy advantage to
the foe, — my heart still trembles for the ark of God. I
cannot see a preacher, however gifted, ascend to his desk ;

60 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

or a pastor, however faithful, visit his flock; or an elder,
the most conscientious, go his rounds; or a deacon, the
most punctual, perform his service ; or any private member
of the church draw near a sick-bed where an anxious soul
is tossing, or enter a parlour where a word in season may
be spoken, and a clear testimony may be borne ; — but my
heart must tremble for the ark of God. And all the
while my heart must tremble the more, because the
parties who are the occasions of its trembling seem them-
selves to tremble so very little. For if the Israelites in
the camp had trembled more for the ark of God, Eli's
heart, as he sat by the wayside watching, might have
trembled less.

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 61

IV.

ELI— A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE
ARK OF GOD.

" His heart trembled for the ark of Grod." — 1 SAMUEL iv. 13.
PART THIRD.

THE composition of the army to whom the ark of God is
committed, may but too well account for the trembling
of an Eli's heart. Not to speak of the false and formal
adherents to the cause, — how feeble and faint-hearted are
many of the host, — how ill at ease, — how unbelieving !
And even the best and bravest are compassed about with
infirmity; and the holiest fall far short of any adequate
apprehension of what it is to serve the holy God, and
uphold the honour of his holy name. It is a gloomy pic-
ture we have been contemplating. May there be no re-
presentation given somewhat less discouraging, to relieve
the gloom ere we pass from this first cause of the trem-
bling of Eli's heart ? Let us try. Let us ask if no com-
pany or army of men may be got together, to whom Eli
could see the ark of God committed without his heart
trembling, — at least so very anxiously ? The three
sketches we have attempted to give, being reversed, may
suggest the reply, and furnish the materials of a more
trustworthy host. Let us summon our troops.

In the first place, let them all be men who come, not

62 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

as fancying that the Lord hath need of them, but as feel-
ing that they have need of Him. This is our primary
and capital qualification. We are to have no self-
righteous, self-confident cavaliers, who would either hire
themselves to Christ for a reward, or espouse his cause
with an air of condescending patronage, as if they were
doing him a favour. But is there any poor sinner in all
the world who looks upon himself as lost, and so far from
imagining that he could ever lend a helping hand in an
emergency, considers himself the very Jonah, that, if taken
on board, would sink the ship — the worse than Achan,
that, if admitted into the camp, would only mar the fight ?
Come, 0 sinner ! whosoever thou art, with nothing but
thy wants for Christ to supply — thy sins for Christ to
forgive — thy diseases for Christ to heal — thy hard heart
for Christ to break ; — come, thou art the very man for
whom Christ is looking out. It was to enlist thee that
he came into the world; it was to save thee that he suf-
fered and died. Come; and at thy coming, though thou
bringest nothing but guilt and sorrow, wounds and
bruises and putrefying sores, — Eli's heart will not tremble
for the ark of God.

Secondly, let all who flock to the Lord's standard at
first, or continue to rally round it, make sure and thorough
work of the settlement of their covenant with the Lord
himself Let there be nothing ambiguous or equivocal,
nothing uncertain or precarious, as respects the footing on
which you are to be with him. And if any cause of mis-
understanding has arisen — if any defeat has been sustained
while he withdrew his presence on account of your sin —

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 63

think not to patch up a truce or accommodation with him,
or to recover his favour and his powerful aid, by having
recourse to half measures or formal devices. Come again,
at once, to himself ; — let there be an entire clearing up of
all that is amiss between him and you. On his part there
is no hesitation or reserve ; he would have a perfect cove-
nant of peace established. No measured or doubtful boon
does he dispense ; but, taking you once more to be his own,
he would have you to be again, and for ever, complete in
him. Let him have your consent to be so. Let his
Spirit incline you to submit thoroughly to him, — to his
searching of your painful wounds, — to his tender upbind-
ing of them all. Be satisfied with no noisy shout of
triumph, upon any merely external and temporary sign
of his presence. Be satisfied with nothing short of an
uncompromising adjustment of the question, why has he
been smiting you? Then, all being clear and bright, —
his Spirit abiding in you and his countenance shining
upon you, — when he now commits himself to you, and
commits you again to himself, frankly and freely, without
condition on his part and without guile on yours, there
will be no occasion for Eli's heart to tremble for the ark
of God.

Finally, let all in this army recognise and feel their
responsibility, — the peculiar sacredness of the trust com-
mitted to them, and its extreme liability to receive
damage in their hands. Let them know what it is to
work out their own salvation, and to aim at the salvation
of others. Let them have a due sense of the tenderness
of the heavenly vessel which they bear, and the holiness

64 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

of the heavenly name by which they are called. Then,
though their infirmities may be many, and they may
often feel themselves to be in straits, let them be assured
that it is not on their account that Eli's heart will tremble
for the ark of God.

You may be hesitating even now, my brother, and
shrinking from an explicit and open avowal of your faith,
or from the undertaking of some labour of love to which
you feel yourself called or prompted. ' Ah ! ' you may be
saying within yourself, ' I would gladly receive the seal
ajid pledge of my living union to Christ, and have him
committed to be mine, and myself committed to be his.
And I would esteem it a precious privilege and high
honour to have a hand in some personal ministry for the
glory of his name, and the winning of souls to him. Had
I any good reason to hope that I would not dishonour
my profession, or do harm instead of good in any work I
might undertake, oh! how cordially would I take my
place at his table, and enrol myself among those whose
whole aim in life it is to be ever doing something for
Christ, for perishing sinners, for poor sufferers. But I
feel that it is a much more solemn thing than many
think — or than I once thought myself — to take the name
of God into my lips, and have the vows of the Lord upon
me. I would not rush into such a position so hastily as
many do, nor carry its tremendous responsibilities so
lightly/

You do not err, brother, in your estimate of the
solemnity of the Christian culling. You cannot form too
high a conception of the delicacy, and unsullied purity.

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 65

and integrity beyond suspicion, that ought to characterize
the follower of Jesus; the light that should ever kindle
in his eye, the love that should ever burn in his heart,
the grace that should be poured into his lips, the comely
beauty that should shed a charm over his whole demean-
our, and the high authority that should give weight to
his counsels, his example, his rebuke. But what then ?
Do you on that account hesitate, and halt, and hang back,
when the Lord is calling you ? Are you deterred, by the
very loftiness of the standard which you have set up,
from casting in your lot with the Lord's host, and do you
think it safer for yourself, and better on the whole for
the cause, that you should not be so deeply pledged to a
style of life which you might not realize, and that the
holy name should not be taken into the keeping of one
who might only tarnish and soil it ? Nay, brother, suffer
the word of expostulation. Assuming your scruples to
be real, and not affected, let me say to you, first, You
have no right thus to reason; you cannot thus evade the
responsibility which you would decline. It is laid on you
by Christ, and it is treachery or cowardice, or both, to
shrink from it. Accept it, rather, cheerfully, manfully,
in faith ; you have his own assurance : " My grace is
sufficient for you ; for my strength is made perfect in
weakness." And let me also say to you, further, It is
precisely you, and such as you, that the Lord seeks to
serve him ; you who have some adequate notion of the
sacredness of the Christian profession, and the magnitude
of the Christian enterprise — your irresistible call to
undertake both, and your utter and helpless insufficiency

E

66 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

for either. The Father seeketh such to worship him ;
the Son seeketh such to commit himself to them; the
Spirit seeketh and searcheth such to dwell in them ; —
that they may " work out their own salvation with fear
and trembling, because it is God that worketh in them
both to will and to do of his good pleasure/' Ay, and
their fear and trembling will go far to supersede all Eli's
trembling for the ark of God.

" Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obey-
eth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness, and
'hath no light ? Let him trust in the name of the Lord,
and stay upon his God." — " Thus saith the Lord, The
heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool :
where is the house that ye build me ? and where is the
place of my rest ? For all these things hath mine hand
made, and all these things have been, saith the Lord :
but to this man will I look, even to him that is poor and
of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my word." — " Fear
not, thou worm Jacob, and ye men of Israel : I will help
thee, saith the Lord, and thy Redeemer, the Holy One of
Israel. Behold, I will make thee a new sharp thresh-
ing instrument, having teeth: thou shalt thresh the
mountains, and beat them small, and shalt make the hills
as chaff. Thou shalt fan them, and the wind shall carry
them away, and the whirlwind shall scatter them: and
thou shalt rejoice in the Lord, and shalt glory in the Holy
One of Israel/'

It was not a trembling, but a presumptuous look into
the ark, that slew the men of Bethshemesh. It was not
a trembling, but a presumptuous hand that Uzzah laid

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 67

upon the ark, when for that error he was smitten. It
was not a trembling, but a presumptuous shout around
the ark in the camp that made the old man's heart
tremble as he sat watching. Look ye on the ark —
touch ye the ark — rejoice ye in the ark, under the pro-
found impression of this awful inquiry : " Who is able to
stand before this holy Lord God? Wherefore hath the
Lord smitten us?" Let there be such trembling as this
in your hearts when you handle the ark of God, and at
last the trembling of Eli's heart may cease.

II. Besides the composition of the army into whose
hands the ark may have come, the occasions and circum-
stances which seem to bring it forward in battle, and to
peril it on the issue of battle, may cause not a little
trembling of heart for its safety. We might here speak
of such occasions as that on which the Israelites sustained
a miserable defeat at the hands of the Amalekites and
Canaanites, when they would have taken the ark with
them in their unwarranted enterprise, had not Moses
sternly refused to let it go out of the camp (Numb. xiv.
40-45). There is not always at hand a Moses to keep
the ark from being involved in the hazards of a pre-
sumptuous enterprise, undertaken in the impatience of
unbelief, by men smarting under the Lord's rebuke, and
in haste to retrieve a false or sinful step. An Eli may be
unable in such circumstances, to arrest the hot impetuosity
)f the irritated host, — his heart can but tremble for the
rk of God.
" Woe is me, " said the royal psalmist, whom superficial

68 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

critics would pronounce, with cursing Shimei, to have
been a man delighting only in blood; " Woe is me, that
I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar !
My soul hath long dwelt with him that hateth peace. I
am for peace; but when I speak, they are for war."
How weary was David of wars and fightings when he
cried out, " Oh that I had wings like a dove ! for then
would I fly away, and be at rest !" Nor was it for his
own sake alone that he yearned for this quietness; — he
desired to see the ark of God, so long tossed on the un-
settled flood, at last lodged in safety on the holy mountain.
And for the sincerity and intensity of this desire, he could
appeal to God himself: " Lord, remember David, and all
his afflictions: how he sware unto the Lord, and vowed
unto the mighty God of Jacob; Surely I will not come
into the tabernacle of my house, nor go up into my bed;
I will not give sleep to mine eyes, or slumber to mine
eyelids, until I find out a place for the Lord, an habitation
for the mighty God of Jacob" (Ps. cxxxii. 1-5). But it
was not given to him to accomplish this fondest wish of
his heart. It was reserved for Solomon to build for God
an house. All David's lifetime, the symbol of the cove-
nant, unsettled and unhoused, was constantly exposed to
peril and profanation, amid the vicissitudes of his stormy
career; — whether lodged with Abinadab at Gibeah, or
carried aside into the house of Obed-edom, or covered
with a tent on Zion ; whether " heard of at Ephratah," or
" found in the fields of the wood " (Ps. cxxxii. 6). All
his lifetime, therefore, considering these manifold exposures,
David's heart, like Eli's, might tremble for the ark of God.

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 69

It is the prayer of every true servant and soldier of
the Lord, that the din of war and controversy may
speedily come to an end, and the Church may dwell safely
in a quiet habitation. The world, indeed, is apt to judge
otherwise of those who maintain the Lord's cause, espe-
cially in troublous times, stigmatizing them as troublesome
and pestilent sowers of sedition, or as lovers of strife,
seeking to turn the world upside down. There may be
those amongst the ranks of Christ's army who delight in
contest for its own sake, and are, as it were, in their
element when the storm is at its height; and they who
witness only the untiring energy and unflinching courage
of such devoted men, may conceive of them as having no
pleasure in any scene but one of stirring incident and
adventure, of peril and of death. But could we read
their hearts as God does, — ah ! we would soon see what
injustice the world does them. Not willingly, but because
necessity is laid on them, do they engage in such scenes;
and amid all their bold and hearty animation when the
war is raging, what secret sighs are breathed for the
return of a serene and honourable peace ! Could it be
effected without compromising the cause of truth and
righteousness, how gladly, — whether on the field of theo-
logical controversy, or of ecclesiastical contention, or of
those political struggles in which the interests of Christ's
kingdom are mixed up, — how gladly would we proclaim
a cessation of hostilities, a truce, an armistice, a pause,
that the ark of God might have a little rest !

" 0 thou sword of the Lord, how long will it be ere
thou be quiet? Put up thyself into thy scabbard; rest

70 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

and be still. How can it be quiet, seeing the Lord hath
given it a charge against Askelon, and against the sea-
shore? There hath he appointed it," (Jer. xlvii. 6, 7).

Quiet! rest! how can it be? Satan is not bound; the
world still lieth in wickedness ; heresies, divisions, strifes,
abound; Babylon is not yet fallen. Nay, if ever there
was a time when rest and quiet might appear indefinitely
remote — when the sacred symbol might be regarded as
but a speck like the halcyon bird, or that Noetic ship
dimly seen amid the chaos of the wild and tumultuous
waters — it is this present age, this present hour, in which,
as it would seem, old controversies and new, old causes
of agitation and new outbreaks, are about to be blended
in one general hurricane and fiery storm. What former
dispute, in literature, theology, or politics, is not revived ?
What fixed foundation of opinion, in any department of
human thought, is not now unsettled? What body of
men is in security and at ease? What creed, or covenant,
or combination, is giving compactness to the gathering
masses, whether of the higher intellectual and spiritual
orders, or of the grosser portions of mankind? Statesmen
and people, priest and flock — all alike are thrown back
on first principles if they have any, or on mere hour-glass
expediency if they have none. And seeing how things
most sacred are now at issue on the field of strife, and
how much risk there is, in such stirring times, of the
kindling of that wrath of man which worketh not the
righteousness of God, as well as the scheming of that
wisdom of man which is foolishness with God, — how shall
not Eli's heart tremble for the ark of God !

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 71

Is there, then, no source of consolation in the prospect
of such trials and commotions as these ?

Had any one sought to comfort the blind old man, as
he sat upon a seat by the wayside watching, and to allay
the agitation of his soul — he might have been reminded
that what his heart trembled for was the ark of God ;
that God himself, therefore, might be expected to care
for it ; and that for him to be so anxious concerning it,
was almost like distrusting God. Or it might have been
represented to him, that for any evil consequences ensuing
from the ill-advised policy on the part of the elders and
people that put the ark in peril, he at least could not be
held personally responsible. The whole of these proceed-
ings were against his judgment and remonstrances ; and
be the issue what it may, his conscience at all events must
be clear, and his hands must be clean.

Would these considerations materially alleviate his
grief?

The last of them, so far from taking in as comfort, he
might almost have resented as an insult. What ! was he
thinking only of himself, and of his own individual credit
or security, when his heart trembled for the ark of God ?
There may be men who, in such circumstances, would
rather congratulate themselves on their own exemption
from blame, than enter into the risk and danger of the
good cause and of its soldiers. From the safe shore they
pleasantly view the toil of the exhausted crew, whose
bark is all but engulfed in the billows ; all the while
complacently taking credit to themselves for having wisely
declined to embark, and having warned their rash com-

72 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS ELI:

rades of the impending storm. These are they who are
so selfish, even in the Lord's work, that they can rejoice
in no success that is not won by themselves, and grieve
over no failure for which they cannot be brought in as
personally accountable. Not such was Eli. That selfish
ground of congratulation is not one that he can stand on.

The other topic, indeed, is more congenial ; it is com-
fort which he can take in. He calls to mind, that great
as is the peril to which it is exposed, and weak and un-
worthy as are the hands that bear or defend it, it is the
ark of God still ; and, remembering this, he bids his
trembling heart be calm.

Still it costs him an effort to say, when things seem
to be at the worst, " I will trust, and not be afraid." It
is impossible for him to disconnect himself from the
battle that is raging : nor can even the assurance of the
ark's ultimate safety and triumph make him insensible
in the meantime to the rude shocks that assail it, and
the perils it has to encounter alike from friends and from
foes.

I cannot help becoming indignant and uneasy when a
father's good name is aspersed, or his good faith is called
in question, even though I know that he will certainly
clear himself at last. No more can I look on with calm
indifference, when I see the good cause injured by human
pride, and prejudice, and passion, even though I firmly
believe that it will ere long come off victorious. If I
love God, I feel for the honour and safety of his ark
with that nice sense of honour which would make the
sword leap from its scabbard when the faintest whisper

A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 73

is breathed, or the puniest arm is raised, to its disparage-
ment or injury.

But, alas ! I know not what spirit I am of, when I
would call fire from heaven on the heads of those who
will not give it homage, or when I would use the fire of
earth to minister in its service. Let me be still and
know that it is the ark of God. And while engaged in
the strife, let me beware of all that, if I were but a
looker-on or a looker-out, would make my heart tremble
for the ark of God. Then only may I say with Moses,
when the ark sets forward : " Arise, Lord, and let thine
enemies be scattered ; and let them that hate thee flee
before thee." And when it rests — oh that it might be
soon ! — how gladly will I join in the triumphant and
peaceful strain : " Return, 0 Lord, unto the many thou-
sands of Israel" (Numbers x. 35, 36).

74 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

V.

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD.

EXAMPLE IN THE CASE OF AN IMPENITENT SINNER-
CHARACTER OF AHAB.

1 KINGS xxii.

THE narrative in this chapter brings prominently out two
very different characters — that of Ahab, king of Israel,
and that of Jehoshaphat, king of Judah. We begin with
the consideration of Ahab's character, as it is illustrated
in the closing scene of his life.

This Ahab had been all along in his life, as he con-
tinued to be in his death, a signal monument and

Example of the long-suffering patience of God In the

very beginning of his reign he had provoked the Lord
by a new crime. He did evil, it is said, in the sight of
the Lord, above all that were before him ; and, as if it
had been a light thing for him to walk in the sins of
Jeroboam, he took to wife Jezebel, the daughter of Eth-
baal, king of the Zidonians, and went and served Baal
and worshipped him (1 Kings xvi. 30).

The sin of Jeroboam was not so much idolatry as
schism — not the worship of false gods, but the worship
of the true God in a false, unauthorized, and divisive
course. After the revolt of the ten tribes, he saw that
their political separation from Judah would be of short

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 5

duration if they still went up to Jerusalem to worship ;
whereupon, taking counsel (1 Kings xii. 28), he set up
in Dan and Bethel two golden calves, in imitation of the
cherubic emblems in the temple, and as substitutes for
them ; and, ordaining a separate priesthood to minister
at these new shrines, he made the people believe that
they need not go out of their own possessions to find the
God who had brought them out of Egypt. This was the
policy of Jeroboam and his successors, to make the ten
tribes independent of Jerusalem in things sacred as well
as in things civil, by erecting separate altars, as well as a
separate throne. Still they did not profess to differ in
the object of their worship from their brethren of the two
tribes, who continued subject to the house of 'David.

But Ahab improved upon this device ; he completed
the separation, and consummated the apostasy. Having
married, against the law, a heathen princess, he openly
adopted the heathen worship. The daughter of the king
of Zidon easily introduced and established the Zidonian
idolatry, the worship of Baalim, or the heavenly hosts.
This fierce and persecuting idolatry well-nigh suppressed
the religion of Jehovah, and exterminated his prophets.
A small but chosen band, however, of these devoted men
escaped the fury of Ahab and Jezebel ; and in this depth
of wickedness, when the Levites were expelled, the priest-
hood degraded, and the people sunk in crime, boldly main-
tained the cause of God.

Among these, Elijah was the chief. On the very first
outbreaking of Ahab's new offence, he was commissioned
to announce one of the judgments threatened by Moses,

76 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

that of long drought. A parched land and a famished
population wrought at last a salutary change. Elijah,
miraculously preserved during the famine, appears sud-
denly before the king, challenges the priests of Baal to a
trial of their respective faiths, and having confounded
them and vindicated himself by the fire from heaven
descending on his altar, brings back the prince and people
to the acknowledgment of the true God. The heathen
priests and prophets are slain. Those of Jehovah are
sought out and honoured, (1 Kings xvii. and xviii.)

-It was in this interval of partial and .transient refor-
mation that Ahab, by divine encouragement, defeated
the king of Syria, and repelled his invasion. But in the
very height of triumph he forgot God, and made a cove-
nant with the enemy, whom he was commanded utterly
to destroy; suffering him to escape on his promising to
restore a few towns formerly taken from the Israelites.
He had victory given to him, and final deliverance
secured, if only he had been willing, in faith, to follow
up and follow out the advantage he had gained, and,
according to God's command, utterly exterminate the foe.
But he would be wiser — more politic or more pitiful—
than God. He would make terms of compromise, drive
a profitable bargain, and, in consideration of a merely
nominal and apparent concession — for the Syrian king
soon showed he was not in earnest — let the oppressor go
in peace. For this he was rebuked by one of the
prophets : " Thus saith the Lord, Because thou hast let
go out of thy hand a man whom I appointed to utter
destruction, therefore thy life shall go for his life, and

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 77

thy people for his people/' The rebuke, instead of
humbling, irritated and provoked him : " He went to his
house heavy and displeased/' (1 Kings xx.) ^

Soon he was still farther misled by that covetousness \
which in his case most emphatically was idolatry. The
longing eye which he cast on Naboth's vineyard seduced
him into compliance with his wife's diabolical counsel to
have Naboth stoned to death on a false charge of blas-
phemy; and that unscrupulous and unprincipled woman
—having regained her influence over him, soon hurried him
again into the worst excesses of his former heathenism;
insomuch that " there was none like unto Ahab, which
did sell himself to work wickedness in the sight of the
Lord, whom Jezebel his wife stirred up ; and he did very
abominably in following idols/' (1 Kings xxi.) ->J

But still he is not forsaken by God. In the veiy
instant of his relapse into sin, the prophet Elijah is sent
to admonish him. Ahab repents; not perhaps very
thoroughly, or with a really godly sorrow, but still so as
to procure for himself one more respite, one other trial.
For it is a striking feature of the providence of God, as
exemplified in Scripture, that he sometimes accepts even
a hypocritical, or at least a temporary and superficial,
reformation, so far as to make it the occasion of a new
respite and a new trial; — but it may be the final respite,
the final trial, as it was in the case of Ahab (1 Kings xxi.
17-29).

Let us pause, however, here for a moment, and behold
thus far, and at this stage, the goodness of God. In an
age and nation of abounding iniquity, he has all along

78 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

been raising up witnesses of his truth and his love. And
in the particular case of Aliab, how patiently has he
waited! It seems as if he were willing to make all
possible allowance for the man's natural infirmity, his
impetuosity of temper, the circumstances in which he has
been placed, and the influences exerted over him. He is
reluctant to give him up altogether. He labours to arrest
his downward career; he hails and welcomes every ap-
pearance of improvement; he counteracts the advice of
evil counseUors by the faithful and effectual expostula-
tiens of true prophets; — he is long-suffering and slow to
anger.

But there is a period to this forbearance. The time is
come when Ahab's fate must be decided. We arrive at
the history of Ahab's fall, — the last, controversy between
the goodness of God on the one hand, and the wilfulness
of this heady and high-minded man on the other.

Let us mark the successive stages of this strife: — the
king's wilful purpose; the Lord's gracious opposition; the
issue of the contest ; — the issue and end of all

PART FIRST.— Tlie King's Wilful Purpose (1 Kings xxii. 1-6).

Ahab's purpose is announced in the beginning of the
chapter. We find him, after three years of peace, pre-
paring to attack the Syrians. The Syrian king, whom
Ahab had treated with such ill-timed lenity, and with
whom lie had made so sinful a compromise, has, as might
have been anticipated, failed to fulfil tin1 .stipulated terms
of ransom, and to restore the cities of Israel Ahab, pro-
voked at his own simplicity in liaving suffere 1 so favour-

THE LONG-SUFFEKING OF GOD. 79

able an opportunity to slip, through his fond trust in the
honour of a perfidious prince, and stung by the recollection
of the prophet's rebuke, conceives the design of retrieving
his error, and compelling the fulfilment of the treaty, on
the faith of which he had been weakly persuaded to
liberate the enemy whom God had doomed. In this,
Aliab acts under the impulse of resentment and ambition.
He burns with the desire of avenging a personal wrong
and insult, rather than of fulfilling the decree of God.
Had he consulted the will of God, he must have seen and
felt that it was now too late for him to take the step
proposed. He had let the time go past. When God gave
him victory, and assured him of power over his enemy,
then he should have used his opportunity. This he had
failed to do; and for his failure he had been reproved by
God, and warned by the prophet that his people and his life
were forfeited. He might have acquiesced in the reproof,
and learned caution from the warning; and, thankful for
the undeserved blessings of peace and safety which he
enjoyed, he might have waited patiently on the Lord,
who, in his own good time and way, would have accom-
plished his purpose. This would have been his true
wisdom; and the best, or rather the only proof which he
could give of the sincerity of his repentance, would have
been to show himself thus humbled instead of being dis-
pleased. Certainly Ahab should have been the very last
person to think of rousing and provoking the very foe
who, by the divine sentence and by his own compromise,
had gained so sad and signal an advantage over him.
But instead of following so wise a course, Ahab blindly

v

80 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

rushes into the opposite extreme from his former fault;
ancTBecause before he has been blamed. Jfor_not going far
enough, with God on his side, he is provoked to go too
far now, though God has declared against him. His
conduct was like that of the Israelites of old, who, dis-
couraged by the report of the spies, refused to invade the
land, even when assured of God's help; but when God
refused his help on account of their unbelief, instead of
humbly receiving the just punishment of their offence,
were stung by it to the madness of making the rash
attempt themselves. Sq_Ahab,- instead of meekly sub-
mitting to the displeasure of God for his late unjustifiable
weakness, would brave that displeasure again by an act
of equally unjustifiable rashness; — in the very temper of
a petted and froward child, who, when reproved for doing
too little, thinks to show his spirit by instantly doing too
much.

Still, however, though in breaking the peace or truce
with which he is favoured, and venturing to provoke his
perfidious and powerful neighbour, Ahab is acting without
the warrant, nay, against the express warning of the Lord,
he is not without his reasons, and they are very plausible
reasons, to justify the step proposed.

In the first place, it is in itself an act of patriotism and
of piety; at least it looks very like it, and may easily be
so represented: "And the king of Israel said unto his
servants, Know ye that Ramoth in Gilead is ours, and
we be still, and take it not out of the hand of the king
of Syria?" (ver. 3.) The city unquestionably belonged
originally to Israel, and the king of Syria had promised

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 81

to restore it, along with his other conquests. It lay
within the territory of the tribe of Gad. It was a city
of the Levites, and a city of refuge. It was a possession,
therefore, an important and indeed sacred possession of
the Israelites. What harm, then, is Ahab doing? where
is the injustice of his proceedings? Nay, is it not fair,
reasonable, honourable, to attempt the recovery. of his own
and his people's rights? Is he not even consulting the
honour of God, in seeking thus zealously the restoration
of what is God's? Justice, duty, religion, appear to sanc-
tion his purpose.

Secondly, it has received the countenance of a friend:
"And he said unto Jehoshaphat, Wilt thou go with me
to battle to Kamoth-gilead? And Jehoshaphat said to the
king of Israel, I am as thou art, my people as thy people,
my horses as thy horses" (ver. 4). And that friend is
not a wicked man, but one fearing God, and acknowledged
by God as righteous.

And, thirdly, it has obtained the sanction of four hun-
dred prophets : " Then the king of Israel gathered the
prophets together, about four hundred men, and said unto
them, Shall I go against Ramoth-gilead to battle, or shall
I forbear? And they said, Go up; for the Lord shall
deliver it into the hand of the king" (ver. 6). And these
are not prophets of Baal ; for his prophets had been lately
dishonoured and almost utterly destroyed, and Ahab could
not venture to bring any of them forward before so pious
a prince as Jehoshaphat. Ahab is at this time professing
a regard to the true religion, and he keeps at his court

and about his person many disciples of the schools of the
F

82 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

prophets, who themselves hold, or are reputed to hold,
the prophetic character. The most complaisant and
courteous of their number would doubtless be his coun-
sellors: the boldest, as we know, he imprisoned. Still
the approbation of these four hundred prophets, such as
they were, might well confirm his resolution.

Looking, then, at the act itself as an act of patriotic
and pious zeal, encouraged by the consent of his friend
and the concurrence of the prophets, Ahab, we may think,
might well be misled. And we might pity and excuse
him too, as one misled, did we not see him so willing to
be so. Is he not all the while deceiving himself, and that
too almost wilfully and consciously? Is it not the fact —
does he not feel it in his secret soul to be the fact — that
it is no sincere regard to the honour of his God and the
good of his people that actuates him, but pride, vain-glory,
ambition, and a spirit of impatience under the Lord's
rebuke? Is he not aware, that in the enterprise which
he contemplates he has no call from Heaven, and no right
to reckon on help from on high? — that instead of having
any title now to attack his enemy and to recover his lost
possession, he should be very grateful if he is not himself
attacked, his own life and his people's being declared to
be forfeited? Then as to his friend's consent, has he dealt
fairly with that friend? Has he stated to him all the
circumstances of the case? And does he not see plainly
his friend's desire to conciliate, or fear to offend? Is he
not deliberately taking advantage of a good man's weak-
ness? Lastly, as to the prophets, has he no cause to
suspect flattery and falsehood? Is he not of free choice

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 83

preferring their soothing lie to the honest truth? Does
he not know that there is one prophet at least whom he
cannot venture to consult? And is not this of itself a
proof that he is by no means himself satisfied that he is
right ; that, on the contrary, he feels or fears that he may
be doing wrong ?

0 beware, ye pilgrims in an evil world, ye soldiers in
an arduous fight, beware of your own rash wilfulness, of
the weakness of compliant friends, and of the flattering
counsels of evil men and seducers, who in the last times —
in the last and critical stage of individual experience, as
well as of the world's history — are sure to wax worse and
worse! There is no design, no device, no desire of your
hearts, which you may not find some specious arguments
to justify, some friends to countenance, ay, and some pro-
phets too to sanction. You scarcely ever can be tempted
to take a single doubtful or dangerous step in life without
having some plea of reason or religion to warrant it. It
may be a step which God does not require you to take,
and which he does not promise to assist you in taking.
You may be putting in jeopardy your principles, and risking
the very safety of your souls, by rushing needlessly and un-
warrantably into the province of the enemy, and braving, or
even courting, temptation— challenging, by invasion of its
haunts, the seductions of an evil world — provoking the
slumbering power of sin, of the very sin to which, by former
concessions and compromises, you have given a formidable
advantage over you. Ah ! but you have some good purpose
to serve in thus exposing yourselves — you have some im-
portant end to gain. You have to make up for past neglect ;

84 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

you have to repair past errors; you have to win back to
God some part of what the great adversary has conquered,
which still you think might be cleansed and sanctified
again; you have to assert your Christian freedom and
vindicate your superiority over the world, the devil, and
the flesh. And if you should go a step too far, and venture
somewhat imprudently into the very midst of the strong-
holds of this world's god, you will surely, in consideration
of the sincerity of your motives, be forgiven and protected.
And then you can get good men, in their complaisance, to
go_ along with you, and even some form, or feeling, or
fashion of religion — some spiritual plea of gospel liberty
or love — to consecrate the undertaking ; and you may seem
to have a very good cause, or at least a very fair excuse,
for venturing, as you do, on the very margin of what is
wrong.

Ay, but are you sure that, all this while, there is no
guile in your spirit? Is there no consciousness of a selfish
aim, — no feeling that, in part at least, you are seeking to
gratify your own pride and passion, as well as to advance
the interests of righteousness, when, not content with
the security and peace which by God's special mercy you
might enjoy, through simply believing in Jesus, hiding
yourselves in him, and humbly keeping aloof from the
evfl one, you are thus ready to risk a nearer encounter
with the foe, and trust in your own ability to conquer?
Are you not deceiving yourselves, and willing to be
deceived? Is there no pious friend, to win whose approval
you feel that you would need to state your case falsely, or
partially? Is there no sound judgment that you fear to

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 85

consult? no eye of searching penetration and keen reproof
to which you would not wish the whole purpose of your
hearts to be unveiled? no argument or expostulation to
which you would not like to listen? — no prophet of the
Lord whom you dare not send for?

Oh, if there be, let this proof of a bad, or a doubtful
cause, startle and alarm you ! Doubt, deliberate no more,
if you would not be lost. However innocent, however
justifiable, the line of conduct in question may be, however
plausible the arguments in its favour, however ready the
consent of friends, however full the sanction, of prophets, —
be sure it is the beginning of evil, the first step to ruin,
as it was in the case of . Ahab.

PART SECOND.— The Lord's Gracious Opposition (1 Kings xxii. 7-23.)

We come now to consider the Lord's opposition to
AhaVs purpose ; for God did not yet leave this infatuated
man to himself — he interposed to warn him by the mouth
of a faithful servant.

The king of Israel is satisfied with the oracular answer
of the prophets. Not so, however, the king of Judah.
He suspects something wrong, missing probably among
the four hundred some one of whom he has heard.
Hence his question (ver. 7), " Is there not here a prophet
of the Lord besides, that we might enquire of him?"
And hence the pains he takes to overcome Ahab's pre-
judice against Micaiah (ver. 8) : " And the king of Israel
said unto Jehoshaphat, There is yet one man, Micaiah
the son of Imlah, by whom we may enquire of the Lord :
but I hate him ; for he doth not prophesy good concern-

86 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

ing me, but evil. And Jehoshaphat said, Let not the
king say so/' The king of Judah, it is true, does not
venture to speak very boldly ; for that he is too timid,
or too temporizing. Still he persuades Ahab, and so far
prevails as to have Micaiah summoned from the prison
in which, for his freedom of speech, he had been confined :
"Then the king of Israel called an officer, and said,
Hasten hither Micaiah the son of Imlah."

This Micaiah is supposed to be the prophet who re-
proved Ahab formerly, on the occasion of his compromise
with the Syrian king ; and it was probably his boldness
on that occasion that caused him to be imprisoned. That
for some such reason he was at this time a prisoner, seems
to be plainly implied, both in the king's manner of sum-
moning him and in the terms in which he is afterwards
remanded to confinement (ver. 26, 27). To please, then,
his over-scrupulous ally, Ahab calls Micaiah into his
counsels. But mark in what spirit he does so ; not will-
ingly, but reluctantly ; not out of a candid desire to hear
him, but with a fixed prejudice and predetermination
against him.

And is not this the spirit in which good advice is too
often asked, and the word of God consulted, — when it
is too late, — when a man's mind is already all but made
up? You go when your conscience will not otherwise
let you alone, or when the remonstrances of pious friends
trouble you; you go to some man of God, to God him-
self, by prayer and the searching of his word: — for what?
what is it that you want? — light for duty, however self-
denying? or light to justify your doubtful course? Alas!

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 87

alas ! it may be all a mere form, gone through to satisfy
some scruple of a friend; or it may be a desperate effort
to catch at any semblance of divine permission for what
you have, at any rate, set your heart on doing.

Look at Ahab, for example. See how he is occupied
while his messenger is gone for Micaiah. Instead of
preparing himself to judge impartially, he is still lending
an itching ear to the prophets of smooth things, one of
whom goes so far as to mock and mimic the symbolic
mode of prophecy adopted by the true prophets, and to
represent, by the similitude of two pushing horns, the
supposed successes of the allied kings : " And the king of
Israel and Jehoshaphat the king of Judah sat each on
his throne, having put on their robes, in a void place in
the entrance of the gate of Samaria ; and all the prophets
prophesied before them. And Zedekiah the son of Che-
naanah made him horns of iron: and he said, Thus saith
the Lord, With these shalt thou push the Syrians, until
thou have consumed them. And all the prophets pro-
phesied so, saying, Go up to Ramoth-gilead, and prosper:
for the Lord shall deliver it into the king's hand" (ver.
10-12). Thus Ahab is confirmed in his purpose, and is
still further prejudiced against Micaiah.

Meantime that man of God is called. He is advised,
in friendship perhaps, to accommodate himself to the
humour of the king, and to fall in with the rest of the
prophets (ver. 13): " And the messenger that was gone
to call Micaiah spake unto him, saying, Behold now,
the words of the prophets declare good unto the king
with one mouth: let thy word, I pray thee, be like the

88 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS— AHAB:

word of one of them, and speak that which is good."
His answer is noble (ver. 1 4) : " As the Lord liveth, what
the Lord saith unto me, that will I speak/' And right
nobly does he redeem his pledge.

He stands before the princes, undaunted by their royal
state. First of all, he rebukes the prejudice of Ahab,
by seeming to flatter it (ver.. 1 5) : " So he came to the king.
And the king said unto him, Micaiah, shall we go against
Ramoth-gilead to battle, or shall we forbear? And he
answered him, Go, and prosper: for 'the Lord shall de-
liver it into the hand of the king." He says this in
bitter irony and sarcasm, taunting the king, and using
the very words of the prophets to whom he delighted to
listen. ' What is the use of consulting me? They have
given you already the advice and the promise which you
desire. Doubtless they are to be believed, and you have
resolved to believe them. They bid you go; — yes! go
by all means. They assure you of success ; certainly they
must know best/

The irony conveys a cutting reproof, and a merited
one; and with this the holy prophet might have left the
prince to believe his own and his flatterers' lie.

But the mercy of God and the sin of Ahab are to be
yet more signally brought out. Micaiah, therefore, when
again adjured, speaks plainly. Ahab discerns the sharp
and keen ridicule of the prophet's first address, and feels
the rebuke. He presses him more closely: "How many
times shall I adjure thee that thou tell me nothing but
that which is true in the name of the Lord?" (ver. 16.)
In reply, the prophet first describes what he saw in vision,

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 89

scene of desolation, — the king lost, and the people
dispersed, — the shepherd smitten, and the sheep scat-
tered;— an expression which became proverbial, and was
prophetic of another scene, when another Shepherd was
smitten: "And he said, I saw all Israel scattered upon
the hills, as sheep that have not a shepherd: and the
Lord said, These have no master: let them return every
man to his house in peace " (ver. 1 7). And then, still
more thoroughly to awaken and alarm the king, the
prophet, by -a striking announcement of what is presented
to him in vision as at that moment passing in the un-
seen world, denounces the falsehood of the other advisers,
and unveils to Ahab the crisis of his fate : " And he said,
Hear thou therefore the word of the Lord: I saw the
Lord sitting on his throne, and all the host of heaven
standing by him on his right hand and on his left. And
the Lord said, Who shall persuade Ahab, that he may go
up and fall at Ramoth-gilead? And one said on this
manner, and another said on that manner. And there
came forth a spirit, and stood before the Lord, and said,
I will persuade him. And the Lord said unto him,
Wherewith? And he said, I will go forth, and I will be
a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets. And he
said, Thou shalt persuade him, and prevail also: go forth,
and do so. Now therefore, behold, the Lord hath put a
lying spirit in the mouth of all these thy prophets, and
the Lord hath spoken evil concerning thee" (ver. 19-23).
Thus Micaiah describes the Lord sitting on the throne
of judgment, and in judgment sending forth a spirit of
delusion to lure and decoy Ahab to his fall: not that God

90 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

ever seeks and desires the destruction of his creatures, or
influences them by any necessity to be destroyed; but
that, both as the natural consequence and also as the just
punishment of their perverseness, when he sees them, in
spite of all remonstrances, enamoured of destruction, he
suffers them to destroy themselves. He leaves them,
when willing to be deceived, at the mercy of the great
deceiver. He causes blindness to fall on those who will
not see, and hardness of heart on those who will not be-
lieve; and when men are ready to grasp a lie, sends a
lying spirit to put a lie in their right hands.

And yet even to the last, in judgment God remembers
mercy. The very scene of judgment which the prophet
discloses does not imply any fixed and irrevocable design
of wrath against Ahab ; — with such a design, indeed, the
disclosure of the scene would be incompatible and incon-
sistent. We speak of the revealed, not the secret will of
God; with the revealed will of God alone Ahab had to
do. And accordingly this scene, while it indicates a fear-
ful trial, appointed in iust wrath — God himself sending
forth a lying spirit — indicates also, in the very intima-
tion given of it previously by one whom Ahab knew he
ought to believe as a true prophet, that the Lord would
have him to be forewarned and forearmed. He thus
puts into Ahab's hands, if he will but take them, the
arms by which he may meet the adversary ; — the sword
of the Spirit, which is the word of God ; and the shield
of faith, whereby he may be able to quench all the fiery
darts of the wicked one. It is in love that this scene is
disclosed — in truest and most tender pity — to rouse, to

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 91

arrest, to turn him, ere it is too late. There is yet time
for him to stop short ; else why this last attempt to open
his eyes?

And is it not ever thus ? The sentence of final in-
fatuation does not come without previous intimation.
However you may be deceived, or may be deceiving,
yourselves, is there not a voice of truth, or a prophetic
warning, which you feel might keep you right — if you
were but willing to be kept right? Lying spirits of
Satan may be sent abroad; but is not the Spirit of the
living God still to the last striving with you ? Though
all your friends, and all the prophets, and all the long-
ings of your own heart, join to beguile you, is there not
still something in your conscience, in the Bible, in the
providence of God, which tells you that all is not well,
and bids you pause and see how Satan is mustering his
agents to betray you, and God is permitting or appoint-
ing it, on account of your sin ? And is not this the very
height of your criminality and the aggravation of your
doom, that, with your eyes opened, and suspicions and
doubts awakened, — when, by the misgivings and fore-
bodings of your own souls, as well as by signs all around
you, God is in mercy calling you to beware of the fearful
visitation of judicial blindness and a reprobate mind, soon
to be inflicted on such as you are, — you can still listen
to the soothing voice which speaks according to your
wish, and count the faithful monitor your enemy because
he tells you the truth ?

So it was with Aliab. " Did I not tell thee," he says
to his ally, that this Micaiah was mine enemy, — " that

92 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

he would prophesy no good concerning me, but evil?"
(ver. 18.) ' You see what I gain by consulting so severe
and gloomy a fanatic. But, after all, why should he
arrest our glorious career of triumph ? What need have
we of his sanction ? Have we not enough of countenance
without him ? What fault have you to find with the
four hundred, who have all with one consent promised us
victory ? And then see how tame and mean-spirited this
vsaint is, — how meekly he submits to insult and affront :
" But Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah went near, and
smote Micaiah on the cheek, and said, Which way went
the Spirit of the Lord from me to speak unto thee?"
(ver. 24.) When he is buffeted, he takes it patiently.
Is he a fit counsellor of brave men and potent kings ?
Is his sour and malignant envy, grudging our success, —
his morose and unaccommodating temper, crossing our
purposes, — thus always to blast our fair prospects with
the ominous presage of woe ? No ; his very presence
spreads cowardice and disaffection. Let him leave war
and government to nobler spirits ; away with him to his
dungeon and his cell, to meditate his tame doctrine of
slavery and peace, and muse on the glories of his visionary
heaven/

The prophet, having faithfully discharged his con-
science, and served his God and his king, retires happy
to his prison, calm and confident of the result : " And
Micaiah said, Behold, thou shalt see in that day, when
thou shalt go into an inner chamber to hide thyself.
And the king of Israel said, Take Micaiah, and carry
him back unto Amon the governor of the city, and to

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 93

Joash the king's son ; and say, Thus saith the king, Put
this fellow in the prison, and feed him with bread of
affliction and with water of affliction, until I come in
peace. And Micaiah said, If thou return at all in peace,
the Lord hath not spoken by me. And he said, Hearken,
0 people, every one of you " (ver. 25-28).

The prince, enraged and irritated by the consciousness
of this last wrong, having sealed his doom by his abuse
of this last mercy, losing now all temper and self-com-
mand, rushes infatuated to battle and to death : " So the
king of Israel and Jehoshaphat the king of Judah went
up to Kamoth-gilead" (ver. 29).

PART THIRD.— The Issue of the Contest (I Kings xxii. 29-38).

We come now to the closing scene, the issue of Ahab's
trial. Having at last overmastered the scruples of his
friend, Ahab marshals the hosts of Israel and Judah to go
up against Ramoth-gilead.

And here, in the first place, let the expedient by which
Ahab consults his own safety be observed. For he does
riot feel entirely comfortable and secure ; he cannot rid
himself of the uneasy apprehension which the prophet's
word has suggested. There is danger. O but he will
fall on a shrewd way of escaping it ! The prophet has
announced that it is the shepherd, that is the king, who
is to fall ; and accordingly, as it turns out, the orders of
the Syrian commander are (ver. 31), that his troops are
to spare all meaner enemies, and bend their whole force
against the royal captain of the Jewish host. Ahab,
knowing the hazard, cunningly proposes to resign the

94 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

post of honour to his ally : " And the king of Israel said
unto Jehoshaphat, I will disguise myself, and enter into the
battle ; but put thou on thy robes. And the king of Israel
disguised himself, and went into the battle" (ver. 30).
While Ahab is to disguise himself, or, in other words, to
go forth in the ordinary armour of a common soldier,
Jehoshaphat is to retain his royal robes and assume the
command. The design of the crafty prince is so far suc-
cessful. His too easy friend accepts the post of honour,
as being the post of danger too. The dauntless spirit of
this honourable man suspected no fraud in his ally, and
sKrunk from no force of the enemy. How narrowly he
escaped without paying the penalty of his confidence and
complaisance, we may afterwards remark. Meantime,
what are we to think of the meanness of him who could
thus treacherously impose upon another the conduct and
hazard of his own unholy enterprise, and that other, too,
his sworn comrade, his friend? — what but that there
can be no friendship, no honour at all, in a confederacy
of sin, a confederacy against God ? Cowardice, treachery,
these are the characteristics of an evil conscience and a
doubtful cause. Ahab was perhaps no coward naturally,
no traitor to the sanctities of friendship ; yet how un-
scrupulously does he sacrifice his friend and ally to the
dastardly hope of shifting away from himself the sin and
danger of the step that he is taking ?

And what are we to expect but that, false to his God,
a man will be false to his friend also. Especially in
any matter in which he has sought to fortify his own
wavering resolution by his friend's companionship, he

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 95

make that friend's godly character available
as a shield and cover for his own sin.

Let none trust the fidelity of him who is not faithful
to his best, his kindest, his most generous benefactor, —
his Saviour, his God. Consult your own conscience. When
you are prepared to violate the restraints of God's holy
law, and to despise the warning of his holy prophets, will
you stand upon much ceremony with the cobweb delicacies
of courtesy and kindness, — of that honour which is but
breath, and that friendship which is but a name? will
you hesitate one moment to endanger the peace, the safety,
or the reputation, even of the man who treats you with
the most simple and confiding frankness ? will you scruple
to turn his simplicity to your own account, and to play
and work upon his confidence ? You will try to make
him as bad as you are yourselves ; perhaps a little worse.
By flattery, by solicitations, by false representations of
your design, you will persuade him to join you — to give
you his consent and countenance — to take a lead perhaps
in your enterprise. Under pretence of honouring him,
deferring to his advice, and trusting in his wisdom, you
will propose that he should stand forward while you
occupy the back ground. And if you succeed, how will
you secretly exult ! And if he be a good man, you will
triumph ah1 the more. You will lay all the blame and
all the risk on him ; and under his wing you will think
that you are safe.

But wiU the treacherous and cowardly device avail ?—
did it in the case of Ahab ?

No ; God is not mocked. He sees the trembling caitiff

«i

9 6 SCRIPTURE . CHARACTERS AH AB :

under his mean disguise. And in the random shot which
struck the guilty prince we recognise the immediate hand
of the Lord in judgment.

The expedient, indeed, has apparently almost answered
AhaVs purpose. His friend, the king of Judah, as he
expected, is mistaken for him, and becomes the mark for
a thousand weapons : " And it came to pass, when the
captains of the chariots saw Jehoshaphat, that they said,
Surely it is the king of Israel. And they turned aside
to fight against him : and Jehoshaphat cried out" (ver.
32). Aliab himself in the meantime escapes detection,
and is exulting in the success of his scheme, and in his
own security ; when, as if to mark him out as the victim,
not of man, but of God, no well-aimed dart, but an arrow
sent at a venture, becomes to him the unerring bolt of
wrath, and accomplishes his just and predetermined doom :
" And a certain man drew a bow at a. venture, and smote
the king of Israel between the joints of the harness ;
wherefore he said unto the driver of his chariot, Turn
thine hand, and carry me out of the host ; for I am
wounded" (ver. 34).

It is thus, 0 sinner ! that the judgment of God will
overtake you, and " your sin will find you out." You
may follow the multitude to do evil, and, mingling in the
multitude undistinguished and unobserved, you may seem
to get rid of your own individual responsibility and your
own individual risk. You may flatter yourself that in
your worldly course you have lost and merged your own
particular share of the guilt and hazard in the general
mass, and, as one of many involved in a common liability,

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 97

are not specially marked and specially doomed. You may
placeHbefore you, in the foremost rank, some dear friend,
some greater and better man than yourself, who can better
stand the brunt of battle. Against him the charge must
be made ; on him the fault, if any, must lie : he stands
between you and judgment, and under the warrant and
with the excuse of his authority, you feel yourself secure.

Still, " be sure your sin will find you out." An arrow
drawn at a venture will enter your soul. The Lord singles
you out individually, and separately deals with you. There
is a shaft of conviction or a bolt of wrath on the wing,
rushing seemingly at random through mid, air — the arrow
of Christ the king shot from his word, his gospel. Whose
heart shall it sharply pierce ? Yours, 0 sinner ! though a
high name lead you, and a high example authorize you.
Then stand forth now from the crowd alone, singly, sepa-
rately, pierced in your heart now, that you may not be
pierced hereafter. Flee from the camp and company of
the wicked. " Say not, A confederacy, to whom this
people say, A confederacy, neither fear ye their fear ; but
sanctify the Lord of hosts in your heart, and let him be
your fear, and let him be your dread/' Beware of Ahab's
doom. Beware of Ahab's sin. Trifle not with the remon-
strances of God. Abuse not his long-suifering. Resist
not his Spirit, when he is, in long-suffering patience,
striving with you. In particular, —

1. Beware of the beginning of Ahab's evil course — his
fatal compromise with the enemy of his peace. See that
you enter into no terms with any sin, and that you be
not hardened through its deceitfulness. When God in

98 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB:

Christ gives you the victory, delivering you from con-
demnation by his free grace, and upholding you by his
free Spirit ; when, justified and accepted in the Beloved,
you see every sin of yours prostrate beneath your feet,
stripped of all its power to slay or to enslave you — be
sure that you make thorough work in following out the
advantage you have gained — that you listen to no plausible
proposals of concession — that you suffer no iniquity to
escape — that you mortify every lust. For, if a single
iniquity be tolerated, or allowed, 'or indulged ; if a single
sin remain alive ; if, deceived by Satan's sophistry, you
let j our vanquished enemy go, and trust to his fair pro-
mises of moderation and good behaviour — who can tell
what a thorn in the flesh that one enemy may prove to
you, what a root of bitterness to spring up and trouble
you ! How soon may you be led into Aliab's course of
impatience, presumption, and rebellion ! To what shifts
and subtleties of an unsatisfied conscience may you be
compelled, like him, to resort ! How, by one petty sin
unmortified and unsubdued, may your peace be disturbed,
your heart hardened, and your soul involved again in
danger and in death ! Let, your prayer, O penitent
believer ! be the prayer of the psalmist : " Who can under-
stand his errors? Cleanse thou me from secret faults.
Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins : let
them not have dominion over me : then shall I be upright,
and I shall be innocent from the great transgression. Let
the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart,
be acceptable in thy sight, 0 Lord, my strength and my
redeemer/'

THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 99

2. Ilejvare_of^jrcoypM^ ...a slumbering foe. If there
be any enemy of your peace to whom, by former com-
pliances or concessions, you have given an advantage over
you, beware of invading his territories again. Be on your
guard against the very first beginnings of evil — of any
evil especially that you have ever, in all your past lives,
tolerated, or flattered, or fondled in your bosoms, when
you should have been nailing it, without pity, to your
Saviour's cross. You may have many plausible reasons
for venturing into nearer and closer contact with it than
is at all necessary or safe. You may wish to recover a
lost opportunity of grappling with it in the death-struggle
of repentance and faith ; ,you may wish to assert your
Christian liberty and power. But, oh ! beware, if con-
science whisper that there is in you any latent lurking

.remnant of the spirit that made you once indulgent
towards that sin, or anything like that sin. " Look not
on the wine-cup when it is red." " Make a covenant
with thine eyes that they behold not a maid/' " If thy
right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee :
for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members
should perish, and not that thy whole body should be
cast into hell."

3. Beware of the deceitfulness of sin. The wiles of
the devil are not unknown to you. In a doubtful case,
where you are hesitating, it is easy for him to insinuate
and suggest reasons enough to make the worse appear
the better cause. Generally you may detect his sophistry
by its complex character. Truth is simple ; the word of
God is plain : " Come out from among them and be ye

100 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AHAB :

separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing/'
The voice of conscience also is clear : " How can I do this
wickedness, and sin against God?"

4. Beware of being hardened through the deceitfulness
of sin. Beware of a judicial hardening of your hearts, or
of your being given over to believe a lie. Imagine to
yourselves what may be at this very moment going on
in the high court of heaven concerning you. It may be
your case that is under consideration ; it may be the
crisis of your fate that is come. No Micaiah is here,
indeed, to unfold the solemn scene ; but something in
your own conscience may tell of it. There is a hesitancy :
Felix trembles — Agrippa is moved. It is not yet too
late ; you are at the very point of the decisive choice.
All is trembling in the balance. Then, to-day, if ye will
hear His voice, harden not your hearts. Trine not with
the convictions of conscience or the strivings of the Spirit
of God. Beware of- provoking and incurring the sen-
tence— " Ephraim is joined to his idols, let him alone ;"
or the judgment indicated by Him who is the faithful
and true witness, in his parable of the barren fig-tree —
" Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground?" the judg-
ment which, after all suitable influences have been applied
in vain, is acquiesced in by the intercessor himself as in
the last resort inevitable — " Then after that thou shalt
cut it down" (Luke xiii. 6-9).

JEHOSHAPHAT: THE FOKBEAKANCE OF GOD. 101

VI.

THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD IN THE CASE OF
THE RIGHTEOUS.

CHARACTER OF JEHOSHAPHAT.

1 KINGS xxii. ; 2 CHRON. xviii. xix.

" SHOULDEST thou help the ungodly, and love them that
hate the Lord? therefore is wrath upon thee from before
the Lord" (2 Chron. xix. 2), — such is the reproof admi-
nistered by Jehu the seer to Jehoshaphat, on his return
from the unsuccessful warfare in which he had been
engaged with the king of Israel against the Syrians. In
the history of that event we have an interesting exhibition
of character, especially of the characters of the two leaders
of the Jewish host — Ahab king of Israel, and Jehoshaphat
king of Judah. In Ahab we have an instance of a wicked
man partially reclaimed, frequently arrested, but yet finally
hardened in his iniquity. In Jehoshaphat, again, we have
a still more affecting example. We see how a man,
upright before God, and sincere in serving him, may be
betrayed into weak compliances ; and how dangerous and
melancholy the consequences of these compliances may be.
The general uprightness of Jehoshaphat, his sincerity
in serving God, is expressly acknowledged and commended
by the prophet in the very act of condemning his sin
(ver. 3) : " Nevertheless there are good things found in
thee, in that thou hast taken away the groves out of the

102 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT :

land, and hast prepared thine heart to seek the Lord/'
And this high and honourable commendation corresponds
with what we elsewhere read concerning his character and
conduct. The 17th chapter of Second Chronicles gives
an account of his piety and zeal at the beginning of his
reign, and before the event to which the prophet refers ;
and the 19th and 20th chapters prove the continuance of
these excellent dispositions, even after that most sad and
untoward occurrence. We read of his labours in remov-
ing idolatry out of the land, and restoring the worship of
the true God (xvii. 6); of his attention to the religious
instruction of the people (xvii. 7) ; of his concern for the
administration of justice (xix. 5) ; and of his care for the
defence of his people against their enemies, by the best
of all resources — an appeal to God (xx.) : on all which
accounts he was eminently favoured by God with pros-
perity at home and honour from abroad ; — the attach-
ment of his people, the submission of his hostile neigh-
bours, the tribute of many nations, and the blessing of
Jehovah, the God of David, whom he feared.

Such a prince, we might naturally imagine, opposed to
all corruption in the worship of God, would be especially
studious to keep himself and his people separate from the
heathenism and idolatry of the adjoining kingdom of
Israel. He could have no sympathy with the spirit
which animated that kingdom under the auspices of the
infamous Jezebel — no toleration for the abuses which
prevailed after she had secured the open establishment of
the very worst form of paganism. His aim must surely
be to avoid as far as possible all communion with a

THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD. 103

nation which could only insnare and corrupt his own
people.

Yet, strange to tell, the besetting sin of this good man
was a tendency to connect himself with idolaters. The
single fault charged against this godly prince is his fre-
quent alliance with his ungodly neighbours. This is the
very offence for which he is reproved by the prophet.
And this offence he more than once committed in the
course of his reign — courting, or at least accepting, the
friendly advances of the kingdom of Israel; and that in
three several ways.

Thus, in the first place, Jehoshaphat consented to a
treaty of marriage, probably at the beginning of his reign
(2 Chron. xviii. 1). He "joined affinity with Ahab" by
marrying his son to Ahab's daughter (2 Kings viii. 1 8).
This was the first overture towards an alliance. It is a
policy common among princes — though, alas! too often
ineffectual — for uniting their royal families and their
respective nations. It is the very policy of which in our
own history we have several examples, in the intermar-
riages of the heirs of the two crowns in this island;
whence, by the blessing of God, has resulted that solid
union which, in his mercy, may he long preserve! The
powerful monarchs of the south, after vainly endeavouring
to subdue their poorer northern neighbour, — whose proud
and singular boast it is, that, poor as she is, she has never
yet yielded to a foreign yoke, — were content to win by
courtship what they could not conquer by arms, and to
welcome on a footing of affinity the people who would
not be held as subjects. In accordance with this policy,

104 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT:

then, the king of Judah sought to conciliate the friend-
ship of the king of Israel, by mingling the blood of their
royal races; not, however, with the same happy conse-
quence, but, as it turned out, with most disastrous issues.

Then, secondly, Jehoshaphat twice joined in a league
of war with the kings of Israel ; first, in the expedition
against Syria which we have been considering ; and
again, shortly after in an attack upon the Moabites
(2 Kings iii. 7). This latter confederacy being formed
against a common enemy, who had given both of them
provocation, was not so unjustifiable, nor was it so un-
fortunate as the other : it received the sanction of Elisha's
counsel and of the Lord's signal interposition. But the
warlike alliance into which, of his own accord, he entered,
issued in nought but evil.

Lastly, in the third place, Jehoshaphat consented, though
reluctantly, in the close of his reign, to a commercial
alliance of his people with the ten tribes. It appears
(1 Kings xxii. 48) that once before, when asked by the
king of Israel to concur in a joint expedition of their
two navies to Ophir for gold, Jehoshaphat promptly and
peremptorily refused, having then had fresh and recent
experience, in the Syrian war, of the danger of his con-
nection with Ahab. But yet afterwards (2 Chron. xx.
35-37) he agreed to a similar proposal; — on which occa-
sion he was again rebuked by the prophet of the Lord,
and again visited with signal judgment. " The ships
were broken," and the expedition ruined ; — " they were
not able to go to Tarshish."

Such, then, was Jehoshaphat, and such his besetting sin.

THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD. 105

Now, this infirmity in so excellent a person — especially
as manifested in that confederacy with the king of Israel
of which we have already been tracing the dismal con-
summation— is well worthy of our study, both to ascer-
tain its cause and to trace its effects ; first, to find out the
probable reasons or motives of Jehoshaphat's conduct in
this matter, and then to expose its folly, its sinfulness, its
danger, and its evil fruit.

As to the sin itself with which Jehoshaphat is charged,
and the probable reasons or motives of its commission, —
we cannot suppose that, in forming an alliance with the
ungodly, Jehoshaphat was actuated by fondness for the
crime, or by complacency in the criminal. "We must seek
an explanation of his conduct rather in mistaken views of
policy than in any considerable indifference to the honour
of God, or any leaning to the defections of apostasy and
idolatry. For this end, let us consider the relative situa-
tion of the two kingdoms of Judah and Israel, and the
feelings which their respective kings, with their subjects,
mutually cherished towards one another.

The first effect of Jeroboam's revolt with the ten tribes
from the house of David, was a bitter and irreconcilable
hostility between the two rival kingdoms of the ten, and
of the two tribes. All friendly intercourse was inter-
rupted, mutual jealousy and suspicion prevailed, and the
minds of men on both sides were exasperated and in-
flamed by a succession of reciprocal injuries and insults.
The division was marked by all the warmth of religious
controversy, and the implacable rancour of civil and

106 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT:

domestic feud. The kings of Judah could keep no terms
with rebels against the Lord and his anointed David ;
while it was manifestly the policy of the revolted princes
to make the breach irreparable, by keeping alive and
aggravating feelings of animosity among the Israelites
against their brethren of Judah. And, as if to widen and
perpetuate the breach, each party in turn had recourse to
the expedient of calling in foreign aid against the other.
At the instigation probably of Jeroboam, Shishak, king of
Egypt, who had formerly been his patron and protector,
invaded Judah. And again, by way of retaliation, the
king of Judah soon after invited the Syrians to ravage
the territory of the hostile kingdom of Israel, ( 2 Chron.
xii. and xvi.)

Thus these two kindred nations, when the quarrel was
yet recent and the wound rankled, hated and devoured
one another.

In course of time, however, when a generation or two
passed away, something like a change, or a tendency to
approximation, began to appear. The feelings of hostility
had in some degree subsided, the memory of former union
had revived, and the idea might again not unnaturally
suggest itself to a wise and patriotic statesman, of con-
solidating once more into a powerful empire communities
which, although recently estranged, had yet a common
origin, a common history, a common name, and, till lately,
a common faith, — whose old recollections and associations
were all in common. The manifest folly, too, of exposing
themselves, by intestine division, to foreign invasion, and
even employing foreigners against each other, might

THE FOKBEAKANCE OF GOD. 107

prompt the desire of bringing the kingdoms to act har-
moniously together, whether in peace or in war. Such
might very reasonably be the views of an able, enlightened,
and conscientious sovereign, pursuing simply, in a sense,
the good of his country; and such, probably, were the
views of Jehoshaphat. His favourite aim and design
seems to have been, to conciliate the king and people of
Israel; at least, he was always ready to listen to any pro-
posals of conciliation. He, no doubt, thought that he
could secure all the advantages of an amicable intercourse
without incurring its dangers — that he could sufficiently
guard himself and his people from the contamination of
evil influence and evil example — that they could derive
all the benefit to be desired from mixing with their
neighbours in things temporal, without losing their own
superior privileges in things spiritual. Nay, we may
believe that this good man contemplated the communica-
tion of these privileges to his outcast brethren of Israel,
and proposed, by the course which he adopted, to leaven
them with the spirit of a better faith, and ultimately
bring them back again to the legitimate dominion of the
house of David, and the pure worship of the God of their
fathers.

If so, his object was certainly not unlawful ; but in
the pursuit of it, he was tempted to an unlawful compro-
mise of principle. In his anxiety to pacify, to conciliate,
and to reclaim, he was tempted to go a little too far,- —
even to the sacrificing of his own high integrity, and the
apparent countenancing of other men's iniquities. Here
lay the error of this pious prince ; and here it was that

108 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT:

he suffered the subtlety of worldly wisdom, and the
spurious kindness of worldly liberality, to interfere with
the simplicity of an upright and honourable faith in God,
and a godly love towards men. To desire the restoration
of his brethren of Israel to the privileges of the covenant
which they had renounced, Was natural, just, and right,
in one who himself valued these privileges so highly ; but
with this view, and under this pretence, to make friendly
advances towards them, and show a disposition to unite
with them, in their present state of apostasy and idolatry
— this was imprudence — this was sin.

And is not this the very sin of many good and serious
Christians, who manifest to the world, its follies and its
vices, a certain mild and tolerant spirit, and are disposed
to treat the men of the world with a sort of easy and
indulgent complacency ; justifying or excusing such con-
cessions to themselves by the fond persuasion, that they
are but seeking, or at least that they are promoting, the
world's Deformation? No doubt, it is your duty to con-
ciliate all men, if you can; but there is such a thing as
conciliating, and conciliating, and conciliating, till you
conciliate away all the distinctive characteristics of your
faith. It is true, that in your intercourse with the world
you are bound to be patient, long-suffering, and kind, as
your God is patient, long-suffering, and kind, even to the
evil and the unthankful You are to love the most
abandoned with all that intensity of compassionate re-
gard with which God has loved an ungodly race. By all
words of sympathy, by all acts of true liberality, by the
cultivation of all the charities and all the courtesies of

THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD. 109

social intercourse, by self-denial and self-sacrifice, by all
frank and cordial testimonies of affection, you are to
demonstrate your own and your heavenly Father's good-
will, if by any means, heaping coals of fire on their head,
you may melt them to penitence and love. But to make
men see and feel how gladly you on earth, and your
Father in heaven, would welcome them as penitents, —
this is one thing. To make them suppose that you are
willing to receive them on terms of friendship while still
impenitent, — this is quite another. To treat them as ii
their impenitence formed no serious obstacle to the closest
and most familiar intimacy ; to mix and unite with them,
as if you could tolerate, and even admire, their frailties,
their excesses, their loose maxims and opinions ; — this is
to attempt a union between light and darkness, between
Christ and Belial — an attempt alike vain and sinful,
dangerous to yourselves and ruinous to them.

If, therefore, there are any in the Church of Christ
who are sometimes tempted — and who shall say that he
is not ? — to advance too far in this line of concession and
conciliation, and these overtures of friendly conformity
to the world, and to plead that they are not thus con-
taminated themselves, but that they rather season the
world's corruption in the circles in which they move, by
the admixture of their own purer principles and practices ;
—we bid them look to Jehoshaphat and his unholy
alliance with the idolatrous king of Israel. Let them
consider what the real effect of such conduct was in his
case, and what must be the effect of similar conduct in
theirs. Let them observe its vanity and folly, for it fails

110 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT:

to serve, or rather tends to hinder, the good purpose they
intend ; its sin, as it regards ' their own testimony for
God and maintenance of sound principle ; its danger, as
it puts to hazard their peace and safety ; and its mis-
chievous tendency to encourage the evil course and
accelerate the ruin of the very men whom they profess
that they desire to benefit.

Thus, as to the first point, Jehoshaphat, when he con-
sented to an alliance with the king of Israel, no doubt
contemplated the possibility of doing him some good.
He thought that his influence and example might operate
as a check on the violence of his ally. He intended to
interpose, at fitting seasons and opportunities, his advice,
his remonstrance, his authority ; and flattered himself that,
under his control, the measures of the headstrong prince
would assume a milder and more moderate, as well as more
religious character, than was their wont.

Such was his hope. How in point of fact was it
realized? Do we find the presence of the Jewish king
at all restraining the impetuosity of Ahab's counsels?
No ; but his presence gives to these counsels a weight
and a plausibility which, without his countenance and
consent, they never would have had. Do we find Je-
hoshaphat boldly resisting and opposing the ungodliness
of his new friend ? All, no ! his voice of rebuke is feeble
and unheeded. Hear how he answers Ahab's impious
avowal of the hatred which he bore to the true prophet
of the Lord. Is it in the tone of manly and honest
indignation which it deserved ? No ; but with a puny,

THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD. 1 1 1

pitiful, girlish gentleness of expostulation — " Let not the
king say so." And when the prophet is insolently buffeted
by one of AhaVs minions, and consigned to unmerited
imprisonment by the chafed monarch himself, what has
this godly king to say against such atrocities ? What !
not a word ? No ! for not a word from him will now be
regarded. He has lost his high prerogative of reproof.
He has descended from his footing of unquestioned and
uncompromised integrity, and involved himself irretriev-
ably in the very course he should be rebuking. In a
word, do we find this pious prince exerting any salutary
influence at all over Ahab's manners, or principles, or
pursuits ? No ; but we see him a tool, a dupe, and well-
nigh a victim, in the hands of one too crafty and too
headstrong for him to manage.

And so it must ever be. The very first step a good
man takes from the eminence on which he stands apart,
as the friend of God and the unflinching enemy of all
ungodliness in the world, he compromises his authority,
his influence, his right and power of bold remonstrance
and unsparing testimony against the corrupt lusts and
the angry passions of men. He gives up the point of
principle, and as to any resistance that he may make in
details, men see not what there is left to fight for. If
you make concessions to the weak, the wicked, or the
worldly, and enter into their plans, and sit down with
them in their indulgences, you renounce the advantage
which the consciousness of untarnished honour and unirn-
peached consistency, and that alone, can give you over
them ; you put yourself on their level ; you are at their

112 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT:

mercy ; you are one of themselves ; and it must be with
an ill grace and a feeble effect that you venture timidly
to stand forth either as God's witness or as their reprover.
Whatever you gain by conciliation, you lose far more by
forfeiting the respect and reverence which firm integrity
commands. You may consent to mix with them fami-
liarly on terms of friendship and companionship ; you
may thus gain their easy and indolent good-will ; — but
you gain something very like their contempt too ; and a
sort of feeble paralysis comes over you in the very attempt
to be faithful. Your voice of censure loses all its com-
manding energy ; your look of disapprobation loses all its
keenness ; your presence is no longer felt to be a restraint
on folly ; your severity cannot awe, your tenderness can-
not touch ; — you can but feebly " hint a doubt, and
hesitate dislike/' To assume a high tone and take high
ground now, would but excite ridicule by its absurdity, or
anger by its impertinence. Your right to testify, your influ-
ence to persuade, your power of rebuke, alas ! are all gone.
Is not this the natural, the necessary result of such a
conciliatory course ? If you condescend to flatter men in
their vanities, will they listen to you when you gravely
reprehend their sins ? No ; they will laugh you to scorn.
If you countenance them in the beginning of their excess,
will they patiently bear your authoritative denunciation
of its end? No ; they will contemptuously reject it as a
fond folly, or indignantly resent it as an insult. If you
go wi£h them one mile, may they not almost expect you
to go two ? — at least, you have no right to take it very
much amiss if they go the two miles themselves.

THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD. 113

Settle it, then, in your minds, as a fixed principle, that
if you would preserve unimpaired your privilege of
testifying for God, and would not be disqualified for
discharging a very sacred trust, and performing a very
sacred duty, you must beware of a single step in the way
of such conciliation as Jehoshaphat's. If you would have
your influence, your example, your character and conduct,
to be of any weight in the world on the side of divine
truth and holiness, be very careful, by the grace of God.
to keep yourselves unspotted from the world.

But, in the second place, Jehoshaphat not only failed
to arrest Ahab in his sinful course, — he was himself
involved in its sin fulness Instead of reclaiming this
wicked prince, he was himself betrayed into a partici-
pation in his wickedness, — he joined him in his unholy
expedition.

And be sure, we say to all professing Christians, that
you too, if you try thus artfully to gain the advantage
over the world, will find the world too much for you.
For Satan, the god of this world, is far more than a
match for you in this game of craft, and compromise,
and conciliation. Beware how you step out of your own
proper sphere, as a separate and peculiar people, to pro-
voke such a trial of skill with Satan or his practised
votaries and advocates ; and that, too, in their own haunts
— the haunts of their own worldly vanities ; and on their
own ground — the ground of their own worldly modes and
maxims. Be sure that they are to the full as able to

argue the point with you, as you are to persuade or con-
H

SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT :

vince them. They are as likely, at the least, to pervert
you as you are to convert them. You may take part
with them in their counsels, and cultivate their friendship,
hoping to influence them towards good ; but beware lest
the tables be turned upon you, and they influence you
towards evil. Remember, that from man to man holiness
diffuses and spreads its healthful savour far more slowly
and less extensively than sin disperses its contagious
poison. The contact of your holiness may not sanctify
them ; the touch of their sin will certainly contaminate
you. It is your purpose, in joining with them, to stop
them short at a certain point. Are you quite sure that
you can stop short at that point yourselves, — that you
will not, when you come to it, feel yourselves committed,
and be easily persuaded that, having gone so far with
them, it is needless to scruple about going yet a little
farther ?

Then go not along with them at all — no, not a single
step : for a single step implies tampering, in so far, with
your religious and conscientious scruples ; and when these
are once weakly or wilfully compromised, Satan's battle
is gained. The rest is all a question of time and of
degree. Your spiritual faith, and your moral principles,
are henceforth at the world's disposal. Your safety lies
in resisting at the outset, before the world's cold and
subtle influence has debauched your hearts and perplexed
your understandings. The first prompt decisions of a
conscience convinced of sin, and a soul touched with the
Saviour's love, will, in most cases, be right ; but when
you give time for the world to ply you with its manifold

THE FORBEAKANCE OF GOD. 115

considerations of doubtful expediency — when you once
entertain the world's insidious inquiry, May I ? Is it
lawful? Are you sure that what I long to do is posi-
tively wrong ? — ah ! then you are already involved in
the tide and current that may soon sweep you into the
resistless whirlpool, where so many promises and so many
professions, once as trustworthy as yours, are day after
day engulfed.

Stand fast, then, in your liberty. " All things are
lawful unto you, but all things are not expedient/' Be
not yourselves " brought under the power of any ;" and
consider what may " edify" the Church and glorify God
(1 Cor. vi. 12 and x. 23). Stand fast in your integrity.
Be faithful to Him who calleth and appointeth you to
be children in his house ; — " faithful in that which is
least/' as well as "faithful in much" (Luke xvi. 10).
Then, and then only, may you expect him to be faithful
to you, and to keep your eyes from tears, your feet from
falling, and your souls from death.

For, thirdly, see what hazard Jehoshaphat ran. Not
only did he sin with Ahab, but he was on the point of
perishing with him in his sin. Betrayed by his false
ally and associate, who could meanly consult his own
safety by exposing his friend to danger, Jehoshaphat was
saved, but scarcely saved, by faith and prayer, and that
only in the last extremity : " And it came to pass, when
the captains of the chariots saw Jehoshaphat, that they
said, It is the king of Israel. Therefore they compassed
about him to tight : but Jehoshaphat cried out, and the

116 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT :

Lord helped him ; and God moved them to depart from
him" (2 Chron. xviii. 31).

The interposition was seasonable ; it was just in time,
and no more than in time. And critical as it was, was
it not more than he had any reason to expect ? Was it
not a deliverance on which he had no right to calculate ?
It was by his own fault, and against express divine
warning, that he was involved in this hazard, and he
might justly have been left to take the consequences of
his own perverseness. His narrow escape was a cause of
peculiar thankfulness to himself, but not a warrant of
presumptuous confidence to others. It was a signal and
special act of most undeserved mercy.

And think not, 0 Christian ! that you may depend
upon a similar act of mercy when you tempt the Lord as
Jehoshaphat did. If you consent to the schemes of vain,
wicked, or worldly men, and compromise your devotion
to God out of courtesy and complaisance to them, you
may be very sure that, as in Jehoshaphat 's case, they will
take advantage of your easy and accommodating spirit, to
put the blame and the danger on you. But you cannot
be at all so sure that God will come so very opportunely
to your rescue. He is in no way bound to do so. For it is
not a hazard which you have encountered in his service
and at his call, but a risk incurred through your own weak
folly or wilful self-confidence ; and why should you not be
left to reap the fruit of your unwise compliance with the
world's sin, by sharing largely in the world's doom ?

But suppose that God deals with you far more kindly

THE FORBEAKANCE OF GOD. 1 1 7

than you deserve, and in the hour of threatened and
courted ruin your prayer is heard, and you are saved
from sinking in the deep pit arid the miry clay, and your
feet are set again upon a rock, and your goings estab-
lished,— we have still, in the fourth place, one other
consideration to urge. Look to the mischief which your
compliance brings on others. Here we might speak of
the many evils which the weak and worldly policy of
Jehoshaphat entailed upon his family and people. We
might show how his connection by marriage with the
house of Ahab led, in another generation, to the intro-
duction of all the vices and abominations of that idola-
trous house into his own court and kingdom. We might
show also how, in the present instance, notwithstanding
his own escape, his army and his subjects suffered by his
rashness ; and we might remind you of the harm which
you may do, by involving your friends, your children, or
your dependants, in the consequences of your folly, —
from which you may yourselves be delivered, — by encou-
raging them through your example, and leading them on
in the way of sin, and shame, and sorrow. But we rather
choose to confine your view to a single point, and we ask
you to remark how Jehoshaphat 's countenance contributed
to the ruin of the infatuated and unfortunate prince whom
he assisted and seconded in his mad career.

The king of Judah was saved himself, as by fire ; but
his ally, his confederate, was lost. And had he no hand,
had he no concern, in the loss ? And when he came to
reflection, had he no cause of self-reproach — no blame to
take to himself? Had he faithfully warned his friend?

118 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT :

Had he honestly remonstrated with him ? Had he fear-
lessly protested against him, and sharply rebuked and
withstood him ? Oh ! such wounds would have been
kind and precious. But he had been too merciful ; he
had been pitiful, falsely pitiful, — fondly, foolishly indul-
gent ; he had spared his companion's feelings ; he had
dealt mildly and gently with him ; he had seemed to
consent, or at least to acquiesce. Alas ! might not the
perishing outcast too truly plead, that in every step of
his sinful and fatal career he had the sanction of a
righteous man ? And oh ! what would that righteous
man now give for the recollection of but a single word
affectionately spoken in strong and stern expostulation ?

Friends and Christian brethren ! what a thought is
this, that, in making flattering advances to sinners, and
dealing smoothly with their sins, you not only endanger
your own peace, but you accelerate and promote their
ruin ! You may save yourselves by tardy yet timely
repentance ; you may extricate yourselves ere it be too
late ;^but can you save, can you extricate those whom
your example has encouraged, or your presence has autho-
rized ? We speak not of the evil which in your uncon-
verted state you may have done, — that is bad enough to
suggest many bitter recollections ; but we speak of the evil
which even in your character of believers you have unwarily
and incautiously sanctioned, — that you should feel to be
even worse. Think of any single sin which you have seen
committed, — any single excess of word or action that has
occurred in your presence or within your knowledge.
Did you testify against it ? Did you boldly stand forth

THE FOKBEARANCE OF GOD. 119

to protest and to condemn ? Did you decidedly separate
yourself? Oh ! you said a few words, perhaps, to save
your credit; you feebly started an objection, and ventured
timidly to suggest a hint. But did you faithfully and
fearlessly start back at once from the scene, and disavow
all sympathy and all toleration? Nay, did you not rather,
by your light mode of speech, — by lending your coun-
tenance before, and continuing to lend it still, — convey the
idea, that though for decency's sake you opposed, you were
not very earnest in your opposition ? And are you sure
that this idea did not tend to encourage the offender?
May it not be, that had you not at first acquiesced so easily,
and at last remonstrated so faintly, the offence might not
have been committed ?

And when you think of some such individual perishing
in some such sin, — in sin which you seemed yourselves to
countenance and tolerate, — O what depth of sorrow and
self-abasement can ever exhaust the repentance due for
so grievous a wrong? What earnestness of unceasing
prayer is needed to guard against so dangerous a weak-
ness ! We ask you, the very best of you, Have you
not to charge yourselves with some such compromise and
compliance ! We ask you, Have you felt the guilt of it
as you ought ? Have you repented of it as so aggravated
an injustice ought to be repented of? Have you seen
that there may lie upon you the burden not of your own
sins merely, but of the sins of other men, of which you
have been partakers ? Have you ever considered what
it may be to have to answer for the loss and ruin of im-
mortal souls? Think what it would be to have the

120 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT:

dying blasphemer point to you, and say, 'It was you who,
by your decent profession, your little concessions and
conformities, your moderate indulgences — it was you
who, by your easy tone of levity, by your air of indif-
ference, or by a word, a look, of sympathy with sin — it
was you who emboldened me to go on ! '

The thought is too dreadful for us to dwell on ; and
especially so when we consider that even good men, holy
men, servants of God, have suffered themselves to be thus
criminal, and thus cruel. Well said the patriarch, of the
ungodly, "My soul, come not thou into their secret;" have
no'fellowship with them ; advance not, draw not near to
their council — no, not a step, not for a single hour. You
may be putting to hazard your own principles, and fear-
fully aggravating and hastening their condemnation.
And will God not visit for these things ? Will he not
rebuke the saint's weak compliance as well as the sinner's
wilful sin ? True he will not acquit the sinner, though
he may plead the saint's infirmity as his excuse ; for, after
all, he sins wilfully. But will he on that account hold
his saints guiltless ? Must not this as well as their other
sins, this infirmity with its sad results, "find them out"-
so as to be made sensible to their awakened conscience ?
and can it be so, if their hearts are touched with a feeling
for lost souls, — can it be so, without almost the very agony
of remorse ?

0 beware how you treasure up for future hours of
disquietude and despondency — for the season of desertion
— for the dark and doubtful death-bed — in addition to
too many other sad recollections, the memory of sins

THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD. 121

tolerated and sinners emboldened, through your simplicity,
your timidity, your faint resistance, or your half-hinted
consent ! Truly you have need of sound wisdom and high
principle in your walk through an evil world. The men
of the world are ready enough to misunderstand even
what is right in you, and to speak evil even of what is
good. Give them no room for the sly remark, the shrewd
suspicion, the insinuated doubt, which the very appearance
of evil in you will suggest. Plead not an innocent or a
laudable design, as though your policy might tend to win
souls. Be not wiser than your God ; but be faithful to
him. It were hard to say how much of the world's care-
lessness in sin, as well as of the ill success of the gospel,
may be ascribed to the feebleness of the testimony which
believers bear against the world, and the uncertain sound
which their trumpet gives. Let there be more decision
among true Christians, a higher tone of feeling, a higher
standard of conduct — greater consistency, greater earnest-
ness, greater separation, — a more unequivocal zeal for God,
a more unhesitating care and consideration for the interests
of righteousness and the souls of men; and the people of
the world may be made at last to know and feel that
Christianity does put a real distinction, now and for ever,
between them and the people of God. Alas for the ten-
dency of many a Christian's walk to cherish the very
opposite delusion ! When unconverted men find you in
their company, free and unconstrained, nay, ready to go
along with them in some doubtful liberty of pleasure, or
some questionable plan of profit, do they understand, can
they be satisfied, that you really believe them to be in a

122 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS JEHOSHAPHAT:

lost and guilty state ? Are you at any pains to show
them and make them feel that you believe this ? Would
it not be benevolent in you to do so ? Are they under
the wrath of God ? — are they going down to hell ? Do
you believe that they are ? And is it fair, is it generous,
is it kind, to leave them, amid all your intercourse with
them, still by possibility under the impression that, after
all, you cannot seriously think the difference between you
and them so very vital, else you would scarcely treat them
and their plans and pleasures so favourably as they see
that you do? Your tender mercies are cruel indeed, if
such be the issue of them ! Be sure that, not less out of
charity to them than out of a regard to your own safety,
it concerns you to realize, and to live as realizing, the
momentous truth — " We know that we are of God, and
the whole world lieth in wickedness" (1 John v. 19).
Such knowledge is no nurse of vain-glory ; for it implies
a recognition of the free gift of God : " And we know
that the Son of God is come, and hath given us an un-
derstanding, that we may know him that is true, and we
are in him that is true, even in his Son Jesus Christ.
This is the true God, and eternal life" (1 John v. 20).
And it deepens and renders intense the feeling of duty
and responsibility : " Little children, keep yourselves from
idols. Amen" (1 John v. 21).

HEROD: WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 123

VII.

HEROD— WEAKNESS GROWING INTO
WICKEDNESS.

ON THE CHARACTER OF HEROD, TETRARCH OF GALILEE.
MARK vi. 14-19.

" And the king was exceeding sorry ; yet for his oath's sake, and for their sakes
which sat with him, he would not reject her." — MARK vi. 26.

THERE is a very remarkable quality to be observed in the
evangelical histories ; it is the tone of calm simplicity and
candour which uniformly pervades them. Among many
singular and admirable characteristics of their style and
manner of composition, this is not the least. There is
everywhere a mild and passionless equanimity, a quiet
dignity, which marks the guidance and superintendence
of a spirit truly divine. Not a trace, not a vestige or
feature, anywhere occurs of wrath, or bitterness, or envy,
or railing accusation, or evil speaking, or malice, or re-
sentment,— or any of those seeds and symptoms of human
passion, which are so apt to disfigure the writings of un-
inspired men on subjects which interest and excite their
feelings. With entire self-possession, or rather with an
entire oblivion and forgetfulness of self, they write as the
disciples of the meek and lowly Jesus, — who, when re-
viled, reviled not again, — when buffeted, threatened not.
Nor is theirs the calmness of affected philosophic im-

124 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD :

partiality, — the indifference or insensibility which some
think it the height of wisdom to assume when they
write, as if in carelessness or in scorn of all the high and
spirit-stirring recollections, and the deep, heart-moving
associations, which their subject should suggest. The
writers of the New Testament are not thus destitute of
interest and sympathy in what they write. They write
with feeling. They write from the heart. None, indeed,
could write narratives so simply and profoundly cordial
and hearty, without being hearty and cordial themselves.
But yet what is remarkable in them is, that they are
never betrayed or hurried into the slightest excess.
There is not a word, not a hint, of extravagance or ex-
aggeration, or unbecoming heat and intemperance: all is
fervour, indeed; but it is the chastened and subdued
fervour of heavenly meekness. They never lose their
temper. They are never hastily provoked to utter unad-
visedly one single sentence. They never wonder, though
they have wonderful things to tell of. They never fret
or rage, though they have intolerable wrongs to set forth.
They show no studied enthusiasm to recommend their
cause, — no impatient resentment against its adversaries;
although theirs was a cause to rouse from their depths
all the soul's emotions of admiration, exultation, triumph,
and revenge. Still there is no violence of feeling in what
they write, but a plain and temperate record of facts.

And is not this especially singular ? Is it not a proof
of divine influence restraining all human pride and human
wrath, and leaving nothing but the forbearance and
single-minded devotion to the majesty of sacred truth,

WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 125

becoming the historians of Heaven's own acts and coun-
sels? Even when they are most tempted to launch forth
into declamation, or to indulge in invective, still all the
narrative is calm.

Here, for instance, what an occasion had they for im-
passioned oratory ! What a handle for stirring men's
minds might they have seized in the tale of cruel wrong
which they had to relate ! No colours could be too dark
to paint the atrocity of the transaction ; no language
strong enough to denounce and stigmatize the perpetra-
tors of so foul an enormity. There is the mean and das-
tard tyrant, who would fain have been a villain had he
dared, but whose coward spirit made him a mere tool.
There are the monsters in female form, whom unhallowed
lust and passion converted into blood-hounds. And the
deed itself ! — unparalleled in the annals of cold-blooded
crime, a match for the blackest cruelties of the blackest
pages of Roman story, casting quite into the shade that
savage inhumanity which could make its jest of slaughter,
and find a fit accompaniment for its strains of levity in
the carnage and conflagration of a devoted city! Here
was an occasion that seemed to justify, nay, to call for
indignation, — here was a theme on which the friends of
the murdered and martyred saint might well be expected
to grow warm.

But no. They forget not their character as historians
of heavenly truth. They condescend to no vivid paint-
ing, no passionate upbraiding. They simply discharge
their office, and tell their story. Nay, it appears almost
as if, instead of exposing the full and aggravated enor-

126 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

inity of the crime, they were willing rather to say what
could be said in the way of extenuation and excuse.
Instead of enlarging on its horrors, they hint rather at
what might be received as some palliation, or at least
some explanation of the affair. " The king was exceed-
ing sorry/' — he was not willing to do this cruelty, — he
shrunk from it; it was, in a manner, forced upon him
after much reluctance and regret.

What more could a professed apologist of Herod, —
what more could the prince's warmest friend and admirer,
— have suggested? What more could he have desired
to see put on record, in extenuation of Herod's conduct?
The deed was not properly his own, — he was compelled
to it against his will, — "he was exceeding sorry;" but
there was a necessity; he could not help it.

How different is all this from the spirit that appears
in the ordinary historians of the Church's wrongs, and
the biographers of her injured servants ! In them there
is still too much of man's corrupt spirit of retaliation,
and the infirmity of vain-glorious boasting. Nor is it
wonderful. They are but men, — men of like passions
with their fellows, and not under any special or super-
natural guidance of the good Spirit of God. We blame
them not; nay, we praise them rather; greatly prefer-
ring their honest warmth to the affected coldness that is
too wise to wonder, and too refined to be ruffled or dis-
composed. But the difference we have adverted to is
worthy of notice, as affording no mean proof of the inspi-
ration of the Scriptures.

Thus, in the iastance before us, this manner of rela-

WEAKNESS GKOWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 127

tion on the part of the sacred writers serves to introduce
Herod to the best advantage for himself, while it gives us
also a key to the solution of his character : " And the
king was exceeding sorry ; yet for his oath's sake, and for
their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her."

" The king was exceeding sorry/' — Some interpreters
have shrewdly suspected that this sorrow was feigned, — •
that the whole scene of this banquet was a preconcerted
scheme, to which not only Herodias and her daughter,
but Herod himself was privy, in order to get rid of the
Baptist, who had become alike obnoxious to them all.
Herod dared not openly do him wrong, for fear of the
people, who counted John a prophet. He fell, therefore,
upon the expedient of throwing the guilt of the original
suggestion on his accomplices. The feast — the dance —
the sudden admiration — the rash promise — the late re-
pentance— all seemingly natural and incidental, were
artfully got up, that Herod, to the public eye, might be
represented as a reluctant victim rather than a willing
actor. He is, to save appearances, to be entrapped and
surprised into an enforced consent.

But this view of the matter, though not at all very
improbable at first sight, is, upon the whole, rather too
ingenious and refined. And there are circumstances in
the history, and features in the character of Herod, which
would incline us to the belief that he was not concerned
in any previous arrangement, — that the plot, if there was
a plot, was formed between the mother and daughter,
without his knowledge, — that the atrocious proposal did

128 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

come upon him abruptly and unexpectedly, and that he
really was " exceeding sorry/' This appears likely from
the respect and attachment which we know that Herod
previously felt towards the Baptist, as well as from the
remorse of which, it is said, he afterwards gave proof.

The truth, is, this man was not by nature blood-thirsty.
Weakness, rather than violence, was very much the cha-
racteristic of his mind. He was not prepared to adopt
extreme measures ; on the contrary, he was prone to try
temporizing expedients, and to seek the accomplishment
of his ends by craft and compromise, rather than by force.
Other historians give him this character. They do
not charge him with a deliberate and systematic love of
cruelty, but rather with being sly and subtle, cool, crafty,
and designing. He was ambitious, but he had not learned
to lay aside all restraints. He was not one of those who
could deliberately " wade through slaughter to a throne ;"
on the contrary, he contrived to maintain a decent charac-
ter for just clemency and moderation. Violence, cruelty,
and bloodshed, were therefore, on the whole, against his
natural temper; and hence we may well suppose, that,
when he was betrayed into the temptation of committing
crime, he might show much indecision and reluctance.
We may give him credit for a struggle in his own mind,
and for pain and sorrow in yielding. Such is the repre-
sentation given of this prince in the uninspired histories
of the times.

And such he appears in the Bible. There is not much
told of him there , but the little that is told agrees with
the view of his character elsewhere given, and exhibits

WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 129

him as a man in some respects well disposed, yet too
selfish and too timid to be consistent ; — with some good
principles, yet too much the slave of passion and the
world, to give them fair play and scope ; not firm enough
to do right, yet not bold and bad enough unscrupulously
to do wrong ; — neither decidedly good nor decidedly
wicked ; neither resolutely honest nor a reckless ruffian ;
but hampered and entangled between good feelings, desires,
and resolutions, on the one hand, and evil inclinations and
evil counsellors on the other. If he could have got rid of
the last, he might have been a better man. If he could
even have got rid of the first, he would have been a happier,
or at least an easier, man. As it was, he was perpetually
miserable ; — tossed and bandied to and fro between his sins
and his scruples, doing things by halves, and settling the
controversy of conscience with temptation by a sort of eva-
sive, underhand compromise, which left as much room as
ever for a new struggle, a new assault, and a new defeat.
Ever as he was disposed to do right, some supposed
necessity of doing wrong interfered ; and yet, ever when
the wrong was done, there was reluctance at the time,
and regret and remorse afterwards. He was always stop-
ping short too soon either way, having not enough of
principle to keep him steady in duty, and yet too much
to let him go on contentedly in crime.

Hence that appearance of cunning which procured for
him from our Lord the name of "fox" (Luke xiii. 32) ;
and hence, too, that wavering and vacillating inconsistency
which marked his treatment both of the Baptist and of

the Saviour.

I

130 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

Thus, on the one hand, it is quite plain that he had a
high opinion of both. For, as to the Baptist, we read
that Herod much esteemed him, admitted him to his
court, made him almost a favourite and personal friend ; —
listened to him respectfully, treated him with all honour,
and even in many things gladly followed his counsel
(Mark vi. 20). Again, as to our Lord, we are told that,
when Herod heard of his fame and his wonderful works,
he desired to see hirn ; — out of curiosity, perhaps, or to
atone for the violence done to the Baptist by some atten-
tion to his successor and representative (Luke ix. 9).
Nor did this desire pass away : for, when Jesus was
brought before Herod for trial, we are told (Luke xxiii.
8) that the prince rejoiced ; having now for a long time
been anxious to see this wonderful prophet, in the hope
of seeing some miracle done by him.

It is quite evident, therefore, that, to a certain extent,
Herod had a regard for religion and its ministers. Nay,
it seems as if at times, under the Baptist's ministry, on
which he waited, he had been really under the influence
of religious impressions, both sincere and deep. He
"feared John, knowing him to be a just man and an
holy, and observed him; and when he heard him, he did
many things, and heard him gladly" (Mark vi. 20). He
esteemed the man, and reverenced the prophet; hearing
him gladly, and complying with his instructions, so long
as these did not interfere too painfully with his worldly
inclinations. At first, accordingly, when there was nothing
to stir up an opposition between his religious principles
and his ruling passion — the fire within being smothered,

WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 131

the storm lulled into a calm, Heaven seeming to smile
propitious and approving — the attentive convert and
docile pupil bade fair to turn out an exemplary saint.
The prince seemed to be living in peace and friend-
ship with the prophet, and even with the prophet's
Lord.

But touch his secret sore too boldly, and the peace is
broken, the friendship gone. Let temptation kindle again
his favourite lust-^-his cherished desire; let the world
make its demand openly, and religion as openly interpose
her authority; let the controversy be brought to a single
point, and the call be made upon him in a single definite
particular to deny himself and mortify the flesh; — then
comes the struggle; and then is seen the weakness of
merely natural impressions of religion. The prince, who
appeared to have started so well, in an unlucky hour is
tempted to sin. The Baptist fearlessly remonstrates and
reproves : " It is not lawful for thee to have thy brother's
wife " (Mark vi. 1 8). Then is the king distracted between
the flatteries of the world's easy morals on the one hand,
and the unaccommodating and uncompromising claims of
rigid religion on the other.

Need we say which prevailed? The king yielded to
his unlawful passion; but not without many apologies to
himself, and many prudent resolutions. He was sorry,
" exceeding sorry ; " not perhaps, as one says, " for his
sin against God's law, but yet for the severity of God's
law against his sin." He was sorry that the temptation
was so strong, and his friend so strict ; but then he felt
as if he could not resist the temptation, as if indeed he

1 3 2 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD :

could scarcely be fairly expected or required to resist it.
And though, in this one instance, he could not go along
with those high and stern principles, — which might suit
an austere and solitary recluse, but could not well be
acted upon in the world, and amid the trials of a court,
— still this single, almost unavoidable deviation from
such counsels, would not hinder him from paying all
respect in general to the teaching of his friend.

So he might reason. Alas ! he little thought how soon
this one instance of opposition to good advice would lead
on even to the murder of the adviser. 0 ! if he could
but have foreseen that this one indulgence, in the world's
eye so venial, would issue, by an almost necessary and
inevitable sequence, in falsehood, treachery, and blood !
But once do wrong, and who shall dare to say where the
wrong will end? Doubtless Herod felt that, though he
might occasionally transgress the too strict rule of his
religious counsellor, he never could be prevailed upon to
disavow religion itself, or its minister. He little knew
how instantly and irresistibly the consciousness of guilt
would work a change in his sentiments towards the
reprover of that guilt. Even at the time, in the very
act of sin, the thought of the holy man's disapprobation,
and still more the conviction of conscience that the holy
man spoke truth, must have poisoned the pleasure of his
unhallowed and incestuous passion. And afterwards how
must he have felt ? Dissatisfied, restless, impatient, — he
could scarcely tell why or with whom, — angry with him-
self and with all around, he could 'no longer gladly listen
to the voice of him whose presence was a reproof, — whose

WEAKNESS GEOWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 133

very smile of kindness and benignity could not but cut
him to the heart.

In these circumstances, he would fain have silenced
this too faithful witness against his sin, at once and effec-
tually, and for ever. But he feared John. The prophet
had still too great a hold on his mind, and he had too
many religious feelings and scruples, to venture on so
bold an act of violence ; and so he hesitated between his
dislike of the reproof and his reverence for the reprover.
And this perplexing indecision in his own mind was
increased by opposing applications from without. His
offended and indignant partner instigated him to direct
outrage. His people, again, acknowledged John to be a
prophet. Weak, therefore, and irresolute, he had recourse
to the usual expedient of weakness, — he adopted a middle
course. He did John no personal violence, but kept him
in prison (Mark vi. 17). He put religion and its strenu-
ous assertor quietly, and, as he might think, quite allow-
ably, out of the way. Thus he so contrived the matter,
that he shall neither be vainly tormented by officious
remonstrances on the one hand, nor yet, on the other
hand, incur the guilt and odium of avowed and actual
hostility to the word and prophet of the Lord. Such, in
the first instance, is his treatment of the Baptist.

Precisely similar is the temper displayed in his treat-
ment of our Lord, and that on two different occasions.

The first of these is recorded in the Gospel of Luke,
where we read that once, in Galilee, there came certain
of the Pharisees, saying to Jesus, " Get thee out, and
depart hence: for Herod will kill thee. And he said

134 , SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

unto them, Go ye, and tell that fox, Behold, I cast out
devils, and I do cures to-day and to-morrow, and the
third day I shall be perfected" (Luke xiii. 31, 32). It is
plain, from our Lord's answer being addressed to Herod,
that he suspected that prince to be at the bottom of the
message ; — and the case seems to have been this : The
Pharisees, in their usual enmity against Christ, had
applied to Herod to procure his interference against him.
Herod, on the other hand, had scruples. He was willing
enough to oblige the Pharisees, so as to be on good terms
with these convenient apologists and absolvers of his
worldly frailties. He would gladly have rid himself and
them of another troublesome and officious reprover, who
had come to take the place of the beheaded John. But
then he felt too much about his former violence to the
Baptist. The memory of that crime lay heavy on his
conscience ; so heavy as to make him dread, in the Lord
Jesus, his injured friend risen to reproach him. What a
striking instance this, as we may note in passing, of the
power of conscience ! — the guilty man has rid himself of
one accuser, only to be startled by the rising up of an-
other! Herod, then, would not again be so rash; and,
besides, he still feared the people, who honoured Jesus
even more than they had honoured John. So once more
he is in a dilemma, and once more he tried a middle
course, — authorizing the Pharisees to convey to this new
teacher of righteousness an. indirect hint, which may have
the effect, of banishing him from his territories. This
seems to* have been his cunning device and stratagem, in
allusion to which Jesus denounces him as " that fox."

WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 135

And thus sinners still think slily to get the better of
their God. Without committing themselves by open
hostility, they would contrive, by a sort of by-play or
side-wind, to put away his word of warning and re-
proof.

The second occasion of Herod's having to deal with
Jesus, was when Pilate sent Jesus to him to be tried.
And now Herod hopes, at last, to gratify his vain curi-
osity, and see some specimen of the miracles of which he
has heard so much : " And when Herod saw Jesus, he
was exceeding glad : for he was desirous to see him of a
long season, because he had heard many things of him;
and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him.
Then he questioned with him in many words ; but he
answered him nothing" (Luke xxiii. 8, 9). Herod is
provoked by the Saviour's silence, and feels it as a
reproof of his former crime. The Jewish authorities,
meanwhile, loudly and clamorously reiterate their accusa-
tions : " The chief priests and scribes stood and vehe-
mently accused him" (Luke xxiii. 10). What is now
the judge's course? Plainly either to condemn *or to
acquit the prisoner, — to declare him guilty, and worthy
of death, or innocent, and therefore free. But mark the
weakness of the man ! Either of these measures would
be too decided for him. He does not venture to con-
demn, neither will he at once absolve. So he gratifies
the Pharisees and vents his own impotent resentment, by
an act of wanton, gratuitous, and unjustifiable barbarity,
— he exposes his victim, still uncondemned, to the insults
of the soldiery, and then sends him again to Pilate; —

136 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

thus losing all the calm uprightness of the judge in the
petty and jealous insolence of the tyrant : " And Herod
with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him,
and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again
to Pilate" (Luke xxiii. 11).

Such was the character of this monarch. Now, with
this character it is perfectly consistent that, on the occasion
of the demand made for the Baptist's head, he should have
been " exceeding sorry." No wonder, indeed, that by
such a demand, at such a time, on such a day of festal
joy, he should have been shocked, startled, horror-struck.
The man whom but lately he had welcomed as his friend,
admitted to his family, and intrusted with his confidence ;
to whom he had pledged his hand in fellowship, and his
heart too, we may almost say, in respectful love ; from
whose lips he had heard words of wisdom, and tenderness,
and kind reproof; — this man of God he was now called
upon to sacrifice in the light frivolity of a dance. No
wonder he hesitated and scrupled, and was "exceeding
sorry." But what did his sorrow, however sincere, avail
him ? Did it arrest him in his evil course ? Did it pre-
vent the crime ? He looked about for some way of escape.
Fain would he have found some compromise to satisfy his
friends and soothe his conscience, that he might evade the
necessity of a definite and decided step. But no ready
expedient occurred. Still he hesitated, and was "exceeding
sorry." But a supposed necessity of compliance prevailed :
"For his oath's sake, and for their sakes which sat with
him, he would not," he thought he could not, "reject her."

WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 137

Let us now endeavour, having some knowledge of
Herod's character, and some sympathy and pity for his
weakness, to measure the force of the strong compulsion
which he pleads, and estimate the worth of his sorrow,
"exceeding sorry" as he was.

" For his oath's sake/' — Like the Jew of the poet, he
pleads an oath in justification of his cruelty. He has an
oath in heaven ; would you have him lay perjury to his
soul ? True, he has been entrapped. In his light and
playful mood of joy, he promised, and even swore, to grant
the pleasing dancer's request ; expecting, probably, that he
.would have to give some costly bauble to gratify her gay
and giddy vanity, of which her dancing so publicly, against
all custom and the modesty of her sex, was a scandalous
proof and instance. He little dreamed of so bloody a
demand upon his faith. Still that faith must be kept;
he has promised, and he must redeem his promise; he has
sworn, and he must perform his vow. Alas, infatuated
man ! and is it possible he can really have believed that
Heaven would register such an oath, or sanction, far less
require, such a fulfilment of it ? Did he not know that
it is impossible for man to bind himself to sin, being pre-
viously bound by God against it ? To keep a rash and
unlawful vow is surely worse than to break it ; for it
cannot cancel the guilt of having made it at first, and it
does but add to the sin of a hasty word the heavier guilt
of a deliberate criminal deed. But, in fact, Herod could
not think himself religiously obliged to crime. Bather,
now that his eyes were opened, was he not religiously
obliged to stop short and retrace his steps ? The very

138 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

sorrow which he felt, — was it not a proof that it could
not be the will of God that he should fulfil his engagement?
It was a warning against it. It was as if the angel of
the Lord stood in the way with drawn sword to oppose
him, as he stood in the way to oppose Balaam of old.
Balaam, too, was going to fulfil a promise, — to curse Israel
But when the angel stood aside and suffered him to go
on — was it in approval of his keeping such a promise?
Was it not in displeasure and in wrath — abandoning the
covetous prophet to his own heart's lust? The truth is,
it was not really God that the prince thought of as
demanding the fulfilment of his vow, but man. He
scrupled about breaking his sworn promise and plighted
word to a mere mortal. Alas ! his scruple was not about
breaking any obligation under which he might lie to God !
He had sworn to the lewd minion and minister of his
pleasure, and he could not in honour, or in conscience,
draw back. Innocent blood must be shed, — the holy man
must fall

And was this, then, the poor punctilio, the paltry point
of honour, to which a saint and servant of the Most High
must be sacrificed? He was sorry he had committed
himself, — deeply and bitterly did he regret the pledge and
promise he had given. 0 that he had never seen that
day, — never sat down at that fatal entertainment, — never
tasted the intoxicating cup of the siren's flattery and
fondness ! He had begun in sport ; alas ! now it was too
serious earnest. He had been seduced by a mask of
painted smiles; alas ! now the mask falls off, and all the
devil appears. He had been lulled into a soothing slumber

WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 139

by the soft blandishments of love and joy ; he little dreamed
of so terrible an awakening. It was pleasure he sought ;
he little reckoned on the black and bloody villany that was
to follow in her train. Would that he had resisted at
first, — that he had taken the prophet's advice ! But now
he is entangled, involved, committed too far — it is too late :
"For his oath's sake" —

" And for their sakes which sat with him/' — He had
publicly sworn, and would be publicly taunted and up-
braided, if he did not perform his oath. All his court
would cry shame on him. It would be of no use to
explain to them his reasons for hesitating. They could
not understand his scruples. They would give him no
credit for sincerity. After all he had sacrificed, they could
not believe him in earnest in hesitating to sacrifice a little
more ; for in their estimation it was no great matter, after
all, that was demanded, — only the obscure and worthless
life of a troublesome captive! What was this, that it
should be suffered to disturb the festivity of the scene, or
break the harmony that prevailed ? The king had acted
royally in the munificent pledge he gave; the festive hall
rung with applause of his princely liberality ; and was he
now, from pretended delicacy of conscience, to fail in
redeeming it ?

It was too late for him, after all that had passed, to
plead religious or conscientious reasons, — these had long
ago been overborne. The courtiers well knew that if he had
acted from such reasons, he never would have gone so far as
he had already gone in his persecution of the Baptist ; they
could not therefore suppose that these were the reasons

140 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

which prevented him now from going just a little farther.
His refusal would be placed to the account, not of principle,
— none would give him credit for that, — but of false-
hood, meanness, or cowardice ; and he dared not incur
such an imputation. He " was exceeding sorry ; but
for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject
her."

And these were the arguments which satisfied this
man, who had once been almost persuaded to be John's
disciple ! He consented with reluctance, yet he felt
himself compelled to consent. And what compelled him ?
A fanciful point of honour — a false feeling of shame.
Alas ! what a spectacle is here ! — a man always sinning
with regret, yet still always sinning; "exceeding sorry"
to do wrong, yet in spite of his sorrow still always obliged
to do it. What a specimen of the deceitfulness of sin !
How plausibly it argues, so that the heart of man, — ay,
even of a seemingly religious man, — shall be persuaded
to acquiesce in its arguments ! How skilfully and
cunningly does it contrive to spread the toils and meshes
of its net around him, so that he can see no possible way
of escape !

And the marvel is, it is but a cobweb net after all.
A single vigorous effort of honest resolution would burst
it and break it in ten thousand pieces. But the victim
entangled is a weak, and half a willing captive. The
heart involved in the deceitfulness of sin, is itself deceit-
ful. Still unregenerate, unrenewed, and unsanctified, —
untouched by the mercy, and unchanged by the Spirit of

WEAKNESS GEOWING INTO WICKEDNESS. 141

God, — it lias not taken part decidedly with the Lord and
his Anointed. Some religion it may have, — a religion of
scruples, and fears, and regrets, but not a religion of faith,
— something of sorrow for sin, but not the godly sorrow
that worketh true repentance.

Let none be deceived by such experience, or rest con-
tented with such a religion as Herod's, — a religion of
continual alternation between sin and sorrow. "We know
not what ultimately became of him. History tells us,
that shortly after this period he lost his kingdom, and
spent the latter years of his life in disgrace and solitude
in the remote province of Spain. It is possible that the
leisure of exile may have been blessed by God to work a
salutary effect ; and, amid the reflections of adversity, the
long controversy carried on in his soul may have ter-
minated in the decided victory of a spiritual faith over
sense and sin. But certain it is, his religion, such as it
was at this time, could never save him. It was but lead-
ing him on to ruin, and that by no flowery path, but over
thorns and painful briers.

Oh ! it is a sorrow most unprofitable and vain that
men feel under the influence of mere natural regrets and
relentings. It is but losing the present world without
gaining anything of the next. It is but inflicting upon
themselves needless, unprofitable pain ; it is doing penance
in vain. Better far would it be to get rid of the sorrow
altogether, and then go on to sin. But as this they
cannot do, would it not be better still to get rid of the
sorrow by getting rid of the sin ? And how is this to be
done ? Not by a system of half measures, or any delusive

142 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

compromise with the enemy, — not by a religion of im-
pulse, or of alarm, or of mere instinctive sensibility ; but
by being " born again, — born of the Spirit/' — and then
" working out your own salvation with fear and trembling,
since it is God that worketh in you both to will and to
do of his good pleasure/' For " by grace are ye saved
through faith ; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift
of God."

Let us, then, come over wholly to the Lord's side. All
on his part is full and free. There is no hesitation, —
there are no half measures with him ; but full and free
forgiveness, full and free reconciliation, full and free expia-
tion of guilt, and the full and free gift of the sanctifying
Spirit. On our part, too, let there be the like fulness
and freeness. Let God be all and in all. So shall we
be preserved from those fluctuations between God and the
world, those vicissitudes of compliance and compunction,
which imbitter the life, and must torture the death, of
him who, in the vain attempt to serve two masters, sins
and is sorry ; is " exceeding sorry/' and yet goes on to
sin.

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 143

HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF ''WORLDLY SORROW
WORKING DEATH."

"For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of : but

the sorrow of the world worketh death." — 2 COR. vii. 10.
" And the king was exceeding sorry ; yet for his oath's sake, and for their sakes

which sat with him, he would not reject her." — MARK vi. 26.

" THE king was exceeding sorry ;" such is the explanation
— shall we say partly the excuse ? — of Herod's conduct,
suggested by the inspired historian. It is the very
apology which he might have been disposed to offer for
himself, or his friends might have offered for him ; it is
the sort of extenuating circumstance that he or they
might have wished to be left on record, in connection
with the narrative of so dark a deed. In consenting to
it, "the king was exceeding sorry/' Such sensibility
seems, so far asx it goes, to be rather creditable than other-
wise ; indicating a certain tenderness of feeling, which, in
one view of it, looks well in contrast with the remorseless
and cruel levity of the fair dancer and her parent, making
sport, amid their revelry, of that venerable and holy head.
But then how far did this sensibility of Herod's go ? Of
what avail was his exceeding sorrow ? It did not save the
prophet's life, — would it save the prince's soul or satisfy
his conscience ? Must it not, on the contrary, in another
view of it, appear to be even an aggravation of his guilt,
that, in the face of his exceeding sorrow, he went on to

SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

commit the crime ? At all events, this sorrow is nothing
more than what is very commonly the accompaniment of
sin, especially when the sinner has any natural or gracious
emotions that must be got over before he gives in to the
sin.

For in fact sin is usually, or rather invariably, more
or less a cause of sorrow, either beforehand, or at the
time, or afterwards. Beforehand, there is reluctance and
hesitation ; at the time, a sharp pang of sudden shame,
or undefined uneasiness and alarm ; and afterwards, regret
and remorse. The sorrow beforehand is what chiefly
t&sts the state of the sinner's heart, and affords the mea-
sure of his criminality. Of such sorrow there may be in
some cases little or none; as where the hurry of a hasty
temptation, or the violence of passion, carries a man on
with scarce a moment for reflection ; or where long and
hackneyed familiarity with vice has deadened all the feel-
ings. But between such cases there lies a sort of middle

O

or debatable ground, on which, with more of delibera-
tion than in the one case, and less of obduracy than in
the other, the man solicited to sin sways to and fro before
he falls ; and it is the pain of such oscillation of mind —
the sorrow of this weak or wicked suspense ere the blow
is struck — that the example of Herod illustrates.

Now the sorrow in question may arise out of either
of two contingencies ; either, first, when sin comes to
disturb a religious profession ; or, secondly, when reli-
gion comes to disturb a course of continuance in sin.

I. The first of these occasions on which this sorrow

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 145

is apt to be felt, is when sin comes to disturb a decent
and perhaps serious profession of religion. This was
Herod's case with reference to the first great crime which
he committed, in taking to himself Herodias, his brother
Philip's wife. Until he was thus tempted, and fell a
victim to the temptation, all apparently might be going
on well with him, as the follower and friend of the Bap-
tist. He respected that holy man, waited on his ministry,
admitted him to his intimacy, complied with his counsels,
and had the reputation, perhaps, of being an earnest and
consistent disciple. Doubtless, when he found that he
could no longer continue on the same terms with his spi-
ritual adviser, but must reject his too faithful advice, he
was " exceeding sorry/' His sorrow, however, did not
hinder his sinning.

Is the case uncommon ? May it not once have been
— may it not still at this very moment be — your own ?
You are willing, nay, forward, to adopt a profession of
godliness; and, if not quite prepared to go all lengths,
yet up to a certain point you are ready to go hand and
heart along with the godly. It is not that you are con-
sciously insincere. You have received deep impressions ;
you are anxious to maintain a Christian character ; you
hear the word with joy ; you do many things to prove
your earnestness and zeal; you delight not a little in
services of piety, works of faith, and labours of love. It
is true, you are not yet altogether such as Paul, were
he speaking to you as he did to Agrippa, might wish
you to be — " Such," he would say, " as I am, except
these bonds ;" you are only almost persuaded to be such.

146 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

There is a hidden reserve and secret guile in your spirit ;
and a sort of suspicion may visit others, and even haunt
yourself, that there might be some sacrifice required of
you, — some renunciation of self-indulgence, or some act
of self-denial, to which you might not be quite able to
consent. Still, so long as a peremptory and painful
decision, in a particular instance, is not actually forced
upon you, the symptoms of your general unsteadfastness
in the covenant of God may not be very apparent, and
the root of bitterness may not spring up to trouble you.

But let an emergency occur, — let there be some sin so
"besetting you that your religious principle can remain
quiet and tolerant no longer ; — then comes the " tug of
war," the strife and inward controversy. Conscience, but
now smooth and satisfied, becomes agitated and uneasy.
Inclination, on the other hand, is importunate, and there
is a strong necessity pressing upon you. Everything
like truce or compromise between the contending powers
is, for the time at least, at an end. The customary terms
of good understanding are broken. It is " war to the
knife" now ; and you are sorry for it, — " exceeding
sorry."

Christian ! professing Christian ! and thou especially
whose profession of serious godliness is yet fresh and
recent ! consider, with reference to such experience as
this — " consider your ways." Call to mind the first
marked step you have been tempted to take, since you
seriously assumed the Christian character and name, in
the direction of self-indulgence or worldly conformity.
You have been advancing, as you flattered yourself,

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 147

steadily and happily, finding " Wisdom's ways ways of
pleasantness, and all her paths peace ; " nor has any anti-
cipation of the embarrassment of a doubtful choice marred
the serenity of your heavenly fellowship. All at once a
question is started bearing upon your practical conduct,
—your walk before God in the world. A proposal is
made that you should enter into a certain society, or
engage in a certain pursuit, or consent to a certain alli-
ance, of which the lawfulness, or. at least the Christian
expediency, may not be altogether so clear as you would
wish. There may be a secret leaning perhaps in your
own heart towards compliance ; or, if not, the very
absence of it may be a snare, making compliance look all
the more like a duty. And there may be much friendly
advice, and even perhaps parental authority, on the same
side. But, on the other hand, there is a scruple ; and
there is the divine warning sounded in your ears —
" Whatsoever is not of faith is sin \" " He that doubteth
is condemned if he eat ;" " Happy is he that condemneth
not himself in that thing which he alloweth ;" "Let
every man be fully persuaded in his own mind/' Such
full persuasion, in the instance on hand, you are very far
from having ; and the want of it distresses you, and
makes you " exceeding sorry." Still much is to be said
in favour of concession ; there are many arguments
against an unreasonable and impracticable degree of
strictness ; there are various considerations of plausible
worldly policy and propriety to justify or excuse the
step ; time presses ; the matter is urgent ; people all
around are waiting for your decision ; and what can you

148 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

do ? At least you may cast another look on what you
are thus solicited to sanction. You look and linger ; you
linger and begin again to long. Your hand is stretched
out ; your feet are about to move.

Here, however, once more, at the very critical moment,
an arrest is laid upon you, — a voice from within is heard ;
from on high there flashes upon you the eye of a frown-
ing God, — an angry Father; and the clear, emphatic
word of warning, " It is not lawful for thee," rings in
your ears, as it rung in the ears of Herod. You are
startled, — you stop short, — your special pleading is laid
Bare, — your duty is clear. Thus arrested, you draw
back, and you seem to be safe, and to breathe freely.

And so you might be safe, were it not that, even in
the very act of stopping short, you are " sorry/' Thank-
ful, doubtless, for your escape, — glad of your seasonable
deliverance, coming as it did just in time, and no more
than in time, — contented to acquiesce in the rejection of
the offered worldly boon or worldly pleasure, and satisfied
that it must be so, — you yet at bottom cannot help being,
if not " exceeding sorry/' yet at least a little, a very
little sorry, that it should be so.

And of this natural sorrow the tempter knows right
well how to make the most. Returning, as opportunity
serves, to the assault, he plies you with still more subtle
arguments than before. It is really so small an affair,
after all — so trifling a question ; why make so much of
it ? It is but one little liberty ; and when it is over,
and you have done with it, all will be well. In this
one particular, Herod cannot meet the views and wishes

WORLDLY SOKROW WORKING DEATH. 149

of the Baptist. He is sorry for it, — " exceeding sorry ;"
but, situated as he is, how can he follow such a rigid
rule as his spiritual counsellor would lay down? How
should he be expected to do so ? This John, a native of
the wilderness, fed on wild food and clothed with coarsest
raiment, cannot know the ways of kings and kings'
courts. As a well-meaning man, a powerful preacher of
righteousness, a faithful and friendly adviser, he is no
doubt entitled to esteem ; and Herod has by no means
ceased to esteem him, though in one solitary point of
private honour or public policy he cannot absolutely defer
to him. For once, he must set aside the stern code of
heavenly morality for the less impracticable maxims of
worldly interest and worldly views of the sort of virtue
it is reasonable to expect in kings' houses : but he will
not, on that account, think the less highly, but rather
the more, of the prophet, whose honest admonition he is
only sorry he cannot, in this instance, regard ; he will
not wait the less punctually, or with the less docility, on
his ministrations ; nor will he welcome him less cordially
to his house, his table, and his closet.

So Herod might think ; and so may you, when " ex-
ceeding sorry," as you may be, to go against the mis-
givings of conscience, and what you cannot help suspect-
ing may be the dictates of the Divine Word, you resolve,
nevertheless, to go. You may intend and expect that
your general reverence for the authority of that Word is
to continue uncompromised, and your general conscien-
tiousness unimpaired. The solitary exception is to con-
firm rather than invalidate the otherwise universal rule.

150 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

Alas for the infatuation of such a hope ! You said you
would be none the worse for your one compliance. It
was to be a single instance, and in all other respects you
were to be as devout and as scrupulously holy as ever.
But have you, in fact, found it so ? Have you ever, in
such circumstances, been able to realize your anticipation?
After a concession or compromise like what we have been
describing, have you lived as near to God as before ? or
walked as closely with him? or prayed to him as fer-
vently? or rejoiced as lovingly in the light of his counte-
nance, and the blessed peace of conscious reconciliation,
divine fellowship, and heavenly hope ? Ah, no ! An
inward blight has come over you ; a withering coldness
and callousness of heart oppresses you. Herod could
never again be on the same terms as before with the
Baptist, or with the Baptist's ministry. He could not,
with clear and calm eye, look John in the face ; and never
again could he hear him gladly. With hanging head,
averted ear, and sullen heart, he must have listened ever
after to his friendly voice. And on you too, in the like
case, a similar spell falls. Singleness of eye is gone, and
with it all simplicity of faith and frank cordiality of
love. The living spirit of your religion has passed away ;
a dead and weary weight of forced formality remains.
You feel this, and complain of it, and mourn over it, —
though too frequently, alas ! without searching out the
cause ! You have a vague sense of dreariness and unde-
fined dissatisfaction. You are " exceeding sorry," you
often know not why.

Nor is this all. As you have not kept your promise

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 151

to yourself, so the tempter does not keep his promise
to you. You said you would be as godly as ever, upon
the whole, in spite of your one doubtful step : he said he
would be as forbearing as ever, and would take no advan-
tage of that step to draw you farther on. You were not
to tempt God any more by any further tampering with
his authority : Satan was not to tempt or trouble you
any more by any further working on your weakness.
Such was the sort of tacit understanding on both sides.

But have you kept your part of the agreement? and
if not, can you reasonably expect the adversary to keep
his ? Can you wonder if, seeing you unfaithful to your-
self, and to your God, he should be unfaithful to you?
If you were able to fulfil your purpose, to realize all
your intended uprightness of walk with God, and be as
spiritually-minded and as tender-hearted as you thought
that, notwithstanding your slight conformity to the world,
you might still continue to be ; then Satan might not
venture to break his truce with you, — he might shrink
from assailing you again. But perceiving you to be as
unstable as you are unhappy, — as feeble and silly as you
are " exceeding sorry," — it is too much to think that he
should forego so attractive an opportunity, let slip so easy
a prey, and continue to leave you alone.

Back, therefore, he comes to you, urging- all his old
pleas, and this new one in addition, that you have already
so far committed yourself as to make it vain for you to
attempt either to stay or to change your course. ' See/
he cries, ' you have broken with that holy man and his
holy teaching, beyond the hope of any accommodation.

152 SCEIPTUKE CHARACTERS— HEROD:

You have found it so. Why, then, stand upon scruples
and ceremonies any longer? You have made up your
mind, in a right kingly manner, to brave this spiritual
tyrant, and set at defiance his intrusive and impertinent
interference with your domestic affairs, and the arrange-
ments of your court and kingdom. You have shown, so
far, a proper spirit; — you have asserted your independence
and freedom ; you have proved to this proud Mentor that
he is not to dictate to you in everything. But do you
not feel that, so long as you suffer him to live and be at
large, you have no full confidence, no unembarrassed free-
dom, in the way which you have chosen ? He may not
now be allowed to preach to you so often as before. He
may be silent when he finds his remonstrance unheeded.
But he is still there ; and his very presence is a restraint.
The mere glance of his eye is a drawback on the pleasure
you should be enjoying. Come, have him disposed of
somehow — anyhow ; and, without further unmanly tem-
porizing, give free scope to what your heart is set on/

So we may conceive of the tempter pleading with his
now scarce-resisting victim. And " the king is exceeding
sorry ;" — sorry to be called upon to take a new step in
the direction against which the convictions of his con-
science and the affections of his heart equally protest.
Must he, then, give up this man of God, whom he has in
former days heard so gladly ? To his death, indeed, even
yet he cannot bring himself to consent. But a middle
course may be tried. Let him be cast into prison, and,
on the principle of " out of sight out of mind/' the king
may hope that he will be less sorry, less " exceeding

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 153

sorry," as he now finally settles down, unrebuked and
unadmonished, into a customary and unreflecting course
and routine of sin.

Thus also, in your case, 0 backsliding soul ! your sor-
row in sinning may force you at last to the expedient of
ridding yourself of what you take to be the cause of it —
which is not of course, in your view, your sin, but the
troublesome monitor that reproves it. The struggle may
be more or less protracted and severe ; but, as it goes on,
the issue may be too surely foreseen. You reckon with-
out warrant, when you trust the tempter's fair promises
of forbearance. His favourite plea of ' But once' is a
mere blind and snare : soon it will be ' Once more, only
once more ;' and again it will be ' Once more ;' and still
always — but once. The tide . of encroaching ocean may
be stemmed sooner, and turned back more easily, than
his advances, — when, planting his foot upon one con-
cession, he lifts his never-satisfied, never-ceasing demand
for another, and another, until all is gained.

And if there be any form or fashion of religious pro-
fession, or any feeling of religious principle, that stands
out in silent grief against the successive compromises that
are thus claimed ; if there be but so much of a remaining
scruple of conscience and reverential awe of God and his
Word, as to make the poor yielding soul sorry, " exceed-
ing sorry," every time it yields, — even such a measure of
godliness is more than can long be tolerated. There is a
growing urgency in the demand to have the pertinacious
reprover still more effectually silenced and set aside.

True, it may be too much, as yet, to require that you

154 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD :

should actually put him to death. To the absolute and
final extinction of your religious character, such as it is,
you can scarcely consent.

But a prison may be found for it, — a cold and dreary
cell of formalism, — a dull, icy dungeon of foul, pharisaical,
and antinomian hypocrisy ; where the word of God's law
and gospel may be kept in safe custody apart, — far
enough away from the palace, with its council-chamber
and banquet-hall, — from the world, with its plans and
pleasures : so that, like King Herod, relieved of the
Baptist's presence, the worldly Christian, chaining his
Christianity out of sight and out of hearing, may abandon
himself at last to his worldly-mindedness ; without being
so sorry, so " exceeding sorry/' as, in more puling and
effeminate days, when, like the frightened schoolboy,

" Still as he ran lie look'd behind ;
He heard a voice in every wind,
And snatch'd a fearful joy."

Such is the kind of sorrow apt to arise on the occasion
of sin coming to disturb a decent or serious profession of
godliness ; and such its practical value.

II. But there is another occasion of sorrow, — when
religion, or godliness, returns the compliment, as it were,
and comes to disturb a course of continuance in sin. Let
it be supposed that the process which you have been
hitherto trying, for silencing conscience and getting ease
in sin, has been, on the whole, rather successful. Your
experiment of confining, imprisoning, and chaining your
religion, has turned out tolerably well. You have now

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 155

freedom and enlargement in your worldly conformity.
Weak scruples and fond fancies trouble you no longer.
Your unfashionable timidity, your ridiculous singularity,
the sigh of regret, the blush of shame, — all have been
got over; and with a smile, or a jest, you can venture
boldly on the ice. No frown of an offended God, no
warning of any pious friend, no voice of a wounded con-
science, haunts you now. You can talk as familiarly as
your neighbours of the world's vanities and venial indul-
gences ; and, contriving to keep at a distance, and in a
dark unvisited corner of your mind, any religious scruples
that might still give annoyance, you find tolerable security
and comfort in the broad road along which you are follow-
ing the multitude to do evil.

But it may happen, on an occasion, that you are
abruptly asked to go a great deal farther than you ever
dreamed of. A sudden demand is made upon you for
a decision in an entirely new case, such as cannot but
bring back " your banished " to your memory. A pro-
posal is made to you, so much beyond all that you have
as yet consented to in daring profanity and crime, that
your conscientious scruples and religious principles are
again stung into reviving sensitiveness. The miserable
battle and intestine feud of soul is resumed, and again
you are sorry — " exceeding sorry/'

This was Herod's case in his last and crowning wicked-
ness. He has got over the Baptist's opposition to his
incestuous marriage; he is living quietly in his sinful
indulgence, and has even a kind of peace in it. He can
enjoy the revelry of the banquet and the ball; there

156 SCRIP-HIKE CHAEACTEKS HEROD:

being no officious intermeddler to trouble him with un-
seasonable remonstrances, and make him sorry or afraid.
John is safe in prison; as well treated as his insolent and
unaccommodating temper will admit of, — certainly as
well as, after all that has passed, he deserves or can
expect. And the king has his own way, and is his own
master. Why may not matters rest on this decent and
decorous footing ?

So Herod would have it. But not so the tempter:
" Give me John the Baptist's head in a charger/'

Horror-struck, the king staggers under the shock ! So
fiendish and blood-thirsty a cry, issuing from lips so fair
and young, appals him ! He is agitated in his whole
frame. Fain would he live on at ease, forgetful of his
old guide, monitor, and friend: but now all the past
rushes in fierce and fiery flood upon his soul, with all its
vivid recollections of past kindnesses and past wrongs;
and the holy, placid countenance of the man of God is
before his mind's eye once more, as in the days of old;
and all this while the horrid words are ringing in his
ears, — Give me his head! Little wonder that the king
is " exceeding sorry ! "

The instance may seem to be an extreme one, but it
has many a parallel in the church and the world of every
age. No downward career of declension or apostasy has
ever been without circumstances and symptoms similar to
those which we find in that of Herod. One feature in
particular is invariably to be observed, and it is a most
insidious and disastrous one : Always, now and then, an
interval occurs — a pause, a break, a sort of rest or breath-

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 157

ing-time — between one concession reluctantly extorted,
and the demand of another awakening all the old reluc-
tance again. For this strife with conscience is close and
deadly, and the parties in the wrestling-match must have
some space between the rounds. The tug and strain
upon the moral nature — the spiritual constitution, the
whole frame- work of the religious sensibilities and affec-
tions— is so intense, that were it not from time to time
relaxed, and a season of comparative quiet allowed, the
cord must break and the tempter's art be foiled. It is
not his interest to have you always struggling and always
" exceeding sorry." He has his landing-places on which,
having dragged you so far down, he lets you have a little
peace before again he shocks and startles you by another
grasp to drag you down still farther.

Beware of these devil's landing-places, for they are
most deceitful They are the successive compromises
which ^you are but too glad to make, as step by step you
are led on in sin. Hardened profligates, confirmed and
habitual drunkards, seared and sordid slaves of avarice
and the world's gain, know these landing-places full well.
There is not one of them who could not tell of stages at
which, ceasing to be sorry for practices or indulgences
now become familiar, he had some measure of a sort of
ease, and even of contentment, till some new excess, into
which he found himself fast falling, startled him from his
drowsy quiet, roused his remorseful agonies once more,
and made him again " exceeding sorry/' And he can
tell too how that second sorrow, like the first, was in due
time overcome, and a second season of repose ensued, until

158 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD :

new and larger strides in the path of wickedness became
inevitable ; and, after weary alternations of angry tumult
and false peace, the death-blow being at last given to what-
ever of God's word or voice within him could raise a feeble
protest against his madness, he has been given over to a
reprobate mind, to do without feeling those things which
are not convenient.

Let the young man, entering on life's busy scene,
beware of these false and fatal landing-places. Plunged
into the tumult and temptations of a great city while yet
fresh from the endearments of a holy home, you meet
the first solicitations of evil with a comparatively pure
conscience and a tender heart. Compliances are required
of you which create uneasiness ; you are expected to
tolerate at least what but lately you would have rejected
with utter loathing: you must, as you think, mix a little
in doubtful society, and consent to some doubtful practices ;
you yield; — but you are "exceeding sorry." Soon, how-
ever, your sorrow wears away, and you are tranquil and
unconcerned. You have come to an understanding with
your religion on the one hand, and with the world's claims
on the other. You cease to be shocked with what is so
common in your circle ; and, familiar with its little levities
and liberties, you are no longer "exceeding sorry" when
you occasionally conform to them. Thus far the tempter
has gained the day; whatever ease or liberty you now
experience, it is to him that you owe it; and you may be
very sure that he will soon exact a reckoning. Accordingly,
ere long, he has some new demand to make in the line of
sinful compliance and conformity. Again you struggle,

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 159

as a bird in the net. Old memories of home, its joys, its
prayers, its tears, — the yearnings of parental fondness, —
the loving smiles of familiar faces, — holy thoughts of holy
seasons, — all crowd around you; and you are sorry,
"exceeding sorry/' But again an extorted compromise
purchases a precarious peace; until a new call of vanity
or folly occasions a new resistance and a new surrender;
and the end comes — alas ! how speedily — ruined character,
blighted prospects, and broken hearts.

Nor is it superfluous to say to the professing Christian,
or even the true believer, — Beware of this particular
artifice of the adversary. You are not ignorant of Satan's
wiles and devices; and sad experience may have proved
to you that this is among the very worst of them. It is
the triumph of the deceitfulness of sin. What shipwrecks
of faith and of a good conscience have been made on this
sunken rock ! With what subtlety has insidious habit
contrived in this way to weave her chains of exquisite
delicacy around the weak or willing or half- willing victims
of her craft ! You have the strongest reasons for venturing
on a measure of doubtful, or more than doubtful propriety ;
and in venturing upon it, timidly and for once only, you
have scruples, and are "exceeding sorry/' Again, however,
the strong reasons, or plausible excuses, are urged; again
you venture on the compliance that is asked of you, and
it is with fewer scruples and less exceeding sorrow than
before. Soon the first landing-place is reached. The
act of worldly conformity, from being occasional, has be-
come customary; inward upbraiding ceases, and you are
"exceeding sorry" no longer. It is the dark, deceitful

'

160 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

lull before the gathering storm. Presently you are solicited
to advance another step in the direction in which you
have begun to walk. You resist; but your resistance is
met by a smile of derision or a scowl of defiance. You
are at the mercy of circumstances which you cannot now
control. You are committed to associates or accomplices
from whom you cannot now draw back. You have con-
tracted habits which you cannot shake off. Forward you
are constrained to go — reluctantly, for you are "exceeding
sorry \" but still forward you are carried, till another stage
is gained and another respite granted. Thus on and on
'you go, unless specially and almost miraculously arrested
by sovereign grace, sinning and sorrowing — sorrowing and
yet sinning still. For when your sorrow for sin is of such
a sort as we have been tracing, and is again and again
overborne, what security can it afford against the "great
transgression ?" (Ps. xix. 13.) Or in what can the history
of your religious walk be expected to end, but the ruin
of hardened and final impenitence? You are ever
struggling, but still ever surrendering : you sin and are
sorry \ you are " exceeding sorry/'— and yet go on to sin.

But, it may be asked, If this sorrow be thus practically
inefficacious, wherein does its inefficacy consist ? or how
may it be distinguished from that sorrow which, being of
a godly sort, "worketh repentance unto salvation not to
be repented of?"

Two distinctive marks may be enough ; and accordingly
it is to be observed, that the sorrow in question lias in it
no true fear of God, and no just sense of sin.

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 161

There is in it no true fear of God; for in all this sorrow
you regard God, if you regard him at all, as if he were
such an one as yourselves — as if he were like an earthly
friend, whom, if by any accident you happen to offend
him, you may easily conciliate and appease by a few
formal common-places of apologetic explanation. In mak-
ing your way through a crowded street, you are compelled
to elbow and jostle some one whom you respect. You
pause for a moment to ask his pardon, — you did not in-
tend to hurt, — you are "exceeding sorry;" but the pressure
was so great ! Your interest obliges you to take an un-
wonted and not quite warrantable liberty with one on whose
personal regard and indulgence you think you can reckon.
You explain the freedom which you have used or are about
to use, — you are "exceeding sorry"" that it should be
necessary, but you know he will excuse you ; and, after all,
between friends is it not a trifle ?

And if your sin were no more than such a liberty taken,
or such a personal offence heedlessly given, in your inter-
course with a being with whom you might use familiarity,
and who, in his dealings with you, had to consult merely
his personal predilections — then you might presume that
he would excuse it too. But the Almighty God, the High
and Holy One, is not to be thus regarded. He is the
moral governor of moral agents; and in that capacity he
must be considered as acting in his treatment of sin and
of sinners. Were God divested of this high supremacy,
as the ruler and the judge of all ; were he at liberty — we
speak with reverence — to deal with men as a private
person deals with those who have personally wronged or

L

162 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

insulted him ; then it might be conceivable that he should
accept as easily as they are lightly uttered, the casual,
off-hand apologies of his weak and wayward creatures.
And is it not precisely because you do thus conceive of
him, that you venture to trifle so recklessly with his
authority, and to presume so confidently on his indulgence?
You flatter yourselves that he will not severely visit your
failings; and if he should chance to take offence for any
reason at any neglect you seem to show, a little explana-
tion will set all right. " You are exceeding sorry ; " but
you really meant no harm. He will make allowance for
-your infirmity, and accept, as a sufficient apology, the regret
which you feel for thus offending him.

Offending him ! — and who or what art thou, 0 sinner !
worm of the earth ! that thou shouldst stand on such a
footing with thy God ? Thinkest thou that thy sin, or
thy sorrow either, can reach or affect Him, the King,
dwelling in light inaccessible and full of glory, -as if He
were a man, dependent for his happiness or for his honour
on thee ? Alas ! what presumption in us, sinful mortals,
to conceive of the Holy One, or to treat with him, as we
might conceive of and treat with a fellow-mortal whom
we had happened to irritate or wrong ! He is offended
with us, we scarcely know or care to ask why, — un-
reasonably, we are apt to think, and somewhat capriciously ;
but a few words of concession, a few signs of self-abase-
ment, will pacify his resentment, and win his toleration
of our weakness ! Even so an ignorant and wilful child
misinterprets the cause of a father's just displeasure. He
knows nothing of the parental authority, or of parental

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 163

discipline. He sees only that his father is angry, and
fondly hopes that a few expressions of penitence and a
few tears of sorrow will coax and persuade him into easy
and indulgent good-humour. • And you, O sinner ! will
deal thus with God, — as a froward child with a doting
parent ! And when his voice is raised to forbid, and his
arm to threaten, and his angel stands to oppose you, —
still, by humble apologies and professions of "exceeding
sorrow/' you will work upon his compassion, and win,
if not his sanction, yet at least his tolerance and per-
mission; so that if you may not yield to him, he shall
yield to you, and standing aside, as the angel did
when Balaam continued perverse, suffer you quietly to go
your own way !

Nor in this kind of sorrow is there a just sense of sin.
There cannot be ; for a just sense of sin flows from a true
fear of God. The feeling, accordingly, which such sorrow
is apt to cherish, is that of regret as for a misfortune, not
repentance as for a fault. There is a secret presumption
that you are to be pitied rather than to be blamed; and
instead of a profound sense of your guilt, and an acknow-
ledgment of the heinousness of your offence and the justice
of your condemnation, there is rather an impression that
it would be an extreme measure of severity on the part
of God, were he to withhold from you the indulgence which
you need. Deeper feelings, doubtless, of poignant grief
and remorse may wring your hearts, as more generous and
gracious thoughts of God, and of his holiness and love,
occasionally visit your minds. Smitten with admiration,

164 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS — HEROD :

gratitude, and awe, you may have something like a real
and longing wish that you could please God, and real and
bitter disappointment because you cannot. But it is a
calamity that distresses you, not a crime. It is your in-
firmity— your fate ; but still not your fault.! There may
be sorrow when you sin ; but it is the sorrow, not of self-
condemnation, but of self-justification. There is no con-
viction in it, — no guileless confession, — no thorough con-
version,— no gracious forgiveness.

True sorrow for sin implies a recognition of the sove-
reignty of God, — the sovereignty of his authority and the
'sovereignty of his grace; or, in other words, it implies
your looking to the cross of Christ, and beholding there,
as in a glass, the glory of God. Let the enlightening
Spirit shine into your hearts, to give you the light of the
knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ ;
— then, at last, feeling the extent and reasonableness of his
righteous claims over you, and the deep demerit of your
opposition to his will, you stand before him naked and
without excuse ; " every mouth stopped/' and every one of
you "brought in guilty" at his bar: "Against thee, thee
only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight : that
thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear
when thou judgest" (Ps. li. 4).

Thus, as lost sinners, appropriating and apprehending
the full and free forgiveness dispensed through the blood
of Clirist, and sealed by his Holy Spirit, you receive mercy
at the hands of God, not as a kind of indulgence on which
you may indefinitely presume, but as a special and signal
act of grace. You feel that he sets you free, once for all,

WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH. 165

from all condemnation, and sends you forth as his redeemed
and reconciled children; not to sin and be "exceed-
ing sorry/' but to be ever sorrowing after a godly sort,
and so sorrowing as "to sin no more" (John v. 14;
viii. 11).

166 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD :

IX.

HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF AN ALLEGED

NECESSITY OF SINNING.

" And the king was sorry ; nevertheless for the oath's sake, and them which sat
with him at meat, he commanded it to be given her." — MATT. ziv. 9.

" And the king was exceeding sorry ; yet for his oath's sake, and for their sakes
which sat with him, he would not reject her." — MARK vi. 26.

THERE is a world of sad meaning in the little word that
•qualifies the intimation of Herod's grief. " The king was
exceeding sorry ; yet — ." He " was sorry ; nevertheless — ."
The full half of all the sins of men on earth are committed
in this very way, — with a feeling of sorrow and an ex-
cuse of necessity. One half of the sinners of mankind
are in the very predicament of this poor king. They
have a great deal of religion, but somehow they are
always compelled to compromise it. They cannot help
it; they are "exceeding sorry;" but yet — .

Alas for this treacherous " But yet ! " How many
good resolutions and good feelings does it arrest ! How
many admirable designs does it interrupt ! How many
plans for good, how many plans against evil does it stay
or stop ! How many excellent premises does it bring to
a " lame and impotent conclusion ! "

" But yet, Madam !
I do not like— But yet. It doth alky
The good precedent ! Fie upon — But yet !
But yet — is as a jailer to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor."

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 167

So the poet complains. And not less indignantly may
the Christian moralize over this poor equivocator, " But
yet;" — this shuffler between a frank affirmative, Yes, and
a bold outspoken negative, No ; — this halting, envious
busy-body, that is ever coming between a man and his
wishes ; — paving the way to hell with good intentions,
and blasting with the mildew of his hesitancy many a
holy and heavenward aspiration.

Nevertheless even this same trimming waverer — " But
yet" — may demand a hearing.

He has his reasons. The historian gives Herod all the
benefit of them : " For his oath's sake, and for their sakes
which sat with him, he would not reject her." These are
surely strong enough reasons; — an oath in heaven and a
pledge on earth. Is there not here the entanglement of
a double obligation, on which God and man may equally
insist ?

Are the reasons valid? Such a question we need
scarcely ask or answer. But are they alleged honestly,
and in good faith? That is a more interesting inquiry.
And, in dealing with it, we must distinguish between ex-
cuses of weakness and apologies for wilfulness.

I. Is it a case of weakness ? Do you really find your-
selves committed unawares ? And is it in all sincerity that
you pitifully urge the plea — You have gone too far to
draw back ? You would fain do so ; but yet — .

Certainly you are entitled to sympathy ; and none like-
minded with the Saviour will treat your sad embarrass-
ment with contempt. Far be it from a Christian coun-

168 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

seller to make light of the delicacies and difficulties of
your position. It may be proper, however, to ask you,
in all tenderness, two questions deeply affecting your re-
sponsibility. In the first place, How came you into such
a position? In the second place, What hinders your
escape from it ?

Thus, in the first place, — How came you into your
present position, delicate and difficult as confessedly it
may be ? Your oath, you say, binds you, and your com-
panions expect you, to sacrifice your godly principles and
scruples, at least in this one instance, and to this precise
extent. It is painful, and you are "exceeding sorry ;"
but you are doubly pledged to it, — before God and men.

You are pledged before God ; there is your oath. Now,
this may mean that you really have involved yourselves
so deeply that a question of conscience or a scruple of
religion is fairly and inevitably raised when you attempt
to draw back. In that case the alternative before you is
distressing indeed; and in the choice you have to make
you are greatly to be pitied. The vow of Jephthah, how-
ever we may interpret it — whether as dooming his daugh-
ter to a sacrificial death, or as devoting her to a perpetual
and sacred virginity — stands out in holy Scripture, written
for our learning, as a solemn and awful beacon against all
rash tampering with the name of God, or with the sanctity
of a covenant with God. It is possible that you may
have fallen into a similar snare, — at least in your own
honest opinion of your case. But the far more probable
supposition is, that what you mistake for a sacred pledg-
ing of yourselves in the sight of God, is really nothing

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 169

more than your being committed in your own opinion.
You have formed a resolution, more or less deliberately;
and it is a mortification of your self-esteem to find that
you must alter your course.

And then you are pledged, not only in your own mind,
but in the judgment or opinion of men. The pledge may
be either express or virtual; but taking it at its lowest
value, and in its loosest form, we must admit that the
entanglement is sufficiently serious.

Have you experimentally arrived at the discovery, that
wickedness makes a tool of weakness ? Have you found
that novices are always at the mercy of professed and
practised proficients in crime? Have you learned that
tutors in sin invariably become tyrants? and that they
will not let you alone until they have constrained you to
do their bidding ? — For, thereafter, they may cast you
aside as exhausted instruments, or worthless remnants, of
their pleasure.

Truly you are to be pitied. But the question must be
pressed upon you — How came you into a position so
embarrassing? And it. is not for the mere purpose of
vexing you that we press this question, but for reasons of
obvious practical importance.

The first of these reasons is, that you may apprehend
and feel your guilt. For you may rely on it that your
case will never be adequately treated so long as you con-
sider yourselves, or are considered by others, to be the
objects of pity merely, and not of blame. Certainly pity
is not to be withheld ; and, in any judgment which your
fellow-men pronounce upon your conduct, the circum-

170 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

stances in which you may have been placed are to be taken
into account. But there is a risk of your being fondled
in the cradle of a spurious, sentimental sympathy, when
it would be far better for you to be startled, were it even
as by the alarum of judgment and the trump of doom.

This, indeed, is one of the peculiar dangers of these
times in which we live. It may arise partly out of the
influence of a false, infidel philosophy, which would make
mind the mere development of matter, and moral charac-
ter the mere result and product jointly of physical organi-
zation and of physical laws. Or, it may be partly owing
to a reaction from the sanguinary severity of the old
penal code, which assuredly dealt with offenders piti-
lessly enough. And partly also it may spring from a
sort of conscientious feeling of self-condemnation, 'and the
impression that, having done so little to prevent evil,
society has but a doubtful right to punish it. One or
other of these causes, or all of them combined, may
account for the tendency to which we refer. Certain it
is, however, that it is fast growing into a mischievous and
fatal infatuation in the department of public morals and
social order. Criminals are regarded as entitled to sym-
pathy. And so they are ; — no class of the community
are more so. But practically, is it not coming to this,
that to a large extent they are regarded simply as
entitled to sympathy, and not as deserving also of blame?
And a sickly, sentimental, feminine sensibility, — very far
removed from the manly and Christian philanthropy that
first groped its way into our jails and bridewells, — would
treat the violator of all laws, human and divine, as a vie-

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 171

tiin rather than a villain, — to be pitied rather than to be
punished. ,

The contagion of this false feeling is but too likely to
reach the private walks of life, and even the inner region
of spiritual experience. There, also, the idea is apt to
prevail, that conformity to the world is the consequence
of circumstances such as make it almost unavoidable.
Under this impression, you may be mourning over your
declension from your first love, and complaining of it to
others on whose friendship and fellow-feeling you think
you have a claim. You spread out your difficulties, and
open up the hidden distresses of your souls. Your want
of comfortable assurance and living joy, in your fellow-
ship with God ; the constant intrusion of the world and
the world's cares ; the unfixedness of your thoughts in
devotion, and the secularity of your hearts ; the little
hold you have of the unseen and eternal state, and the
little hold it has of you ; the immersion of your minds
in the drudgery of daily toil, or in the necessary calls of
social courtesy and kindness ; and, as the effect of all
this, the feebleness of your faith and the languor of your
love ; — such evils in your spiritual condition you pour
into the ear of pious friendship, with broken voice and
bitter tears, looking, all the while, for the earnest and
intelligent sympathy of brotherly love.

And God forbid that you should want this sympathy :
tenderly must your case be treated. But let it be treated
truthfully too. Come, we say to you, rouse yourselves,
and quit you like men. Get rid of the imbecility of a
mere appeal to pity. Look boldly at the actual state of

1*72 SCEIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

the case. Consider how you have come to be so involved
and committed as you now are. Realize your full respon-
sibility. Believe that you are not the sport of chance
and victims of fate. No. You are not passively moulded
into a character that is indelible ; nor are you brought
by any irresistible necessity into a condition that is irre-
mediable. It is your sin, as well as your sorrow, that
you have come into this state ; and the first step towards
your being relieved is, that " your sin must find you
out."

The other reason, accordingly, for insisting on this
•inquiry is, that being convinced of guilt, you may not
despair of recovery. For there is, perhaps, no more dan-
gerous influence abroad, so far as personal effort is con-
cerned, than that of a sort of covert and incipient fatal-
ism. The listless impression of utter helplessness that
creeps into the soul, when folly or excess has contrived
to cast its lethargic spell over you, is like the stupor
that steals upon the senses of the benumbed traveller,
as, weary and wayworn amid the northern ice, he yields
to the seduction of an insidious slumber. It is real
kindness to break, however painfully, that sleep of
death.

Hence our urgency in pressing home the question, —
How came you into a predicament so painful ? Arouse
yourselves to a firm and strong grasp of the entangle-
ments that beset you. To bewail them as misfortunes
merely, is to indulge the mere fretfulness of a child.
Take a manlier view of them. Deal with them as sins ;
and deal with yourselves as sinners. And look well into

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 173

the source of your sin, — into its very fountain-head and
spring. It is idle to throw the blame on circumstances
or companions. You are yourselves the guilty parties.
And the very first thing you have to do, is not only to
criminate and condemn yourselves, but to investigate,
to its utmost depth, both the cause of your criminality
and the ground of your condemnation.

This was what David did, when, abandoning all
refuges of lies and all expedients of self-justification, he
" acknowledged his sin unto the Lord," feeling both its
offensiveness in the sight of God and its just liability to
wrath ; and then, tracing it up to its bitter source, cried
out in his godly sorrow, " I was shapen in iniquity ; and
in sin did my mother conceive me. Purge me with
hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be
whiter than snow. Create in me a clean heart, O God ;
and renew a right spirit within me" (Psalm li. 5-10).

But, in the second place, besides asking how came
you into your present embarrassment, we must ask also,
What really hinders your escape from it? Your vow,
you say, and the right which your companions have over
you : " For his oath's sake, and for their sakes which sat
with him/'

Assuming still that yours is a case of weakness rather
than of wilfulness, we ask you to consider the real value
and force of these excuses. To what do they amount?
Your vow, your oath, — what is that but a feeling of false
pride ? The opinion or expectation of your fellow-men,
—what is that but a feeling of false shame ?

False pride ! false shame ! — and are these, after all,

174< SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

the giant forms and fantasies that stand forth to oppose
you when you would retrace your steps, and recover
yourselves ? And what strength is there in them, when
it is a prophet's head that you are required to sacrifice ?
To what a height must the infatuation of self-deception
have come, if a conviction like this can be seriously enter-
tained !

And after all, even at the last hour, might not Herod
have frankly owned a fault in himself, and fearlessly dis-
owned the fellowship of those " who sat at meat with
him?" Had he summoned up courage enough to be
•abased under the judgment of God, and to defy the judg-
ment of men, — to abandon his false pride in the presence
of God, and to overcome his false shame in the presence
of men ; to say *to his God, " I have sinned against thee,
thee only;" and to say to his fellow-men, " What have I
to do with you?" — the night, so dark and bloody, might
have become to him ere it closed the dawn of a bright
and blessed day. John, out of his prison, would have
preached repentance to the humbled monarch as freely
and fully as ever he preached it to the multitudes in the
wilderness. Herod might have heard of the Lamb of
God that taketh away sin ; and before the morning
broke, had he preferred the living voice to the lifeless
head of his injured friend, there might have been joy
over him in heaven among the angels of God, as over
one more sinner repenting ; and on earth, in his own
heart, there would have been peace with God and good-
will towards men.

Was there no apprehension of such an alternative in

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 175

the mind of Herod that night? Did it never once occur
to him that he was a man, not to say a king; and that
he had but to speak the word, and John was free ? Was
there not a critical instant, when he had almost ven-
tured on such a step, — when the spell was all but broken,
and he was on the very point of asserting his liberty of
choice?

And is there not always some faint and passing glimpse
of a freer and better choice darting across the gloomy
helplessness of soul with which you abandon yourself to
a supposed necessity of evil? Are you not conscious,
that in every step you have been taking there has been
a moment when, by one vigorous effort, you might have
broken the vile enchantment under which you were spell-
bound? Nay, are you not conscious that there has been
a moment when you found yourself on the very point of
breaking it ? At such a moment the truth has flashed
upon you, and you have felt that the cords which bound
you were become as flaxen threads. The mercy of God
in Christ is within your grasp; the Spirit is moving in
your soul. One stroke, and you are free; one leap, and
you are safe;— free to close with Christ, in spite of all
evil surmises and misgivings, — safe in the embrace of
Christ, whatever storms may rise and rage around.

You know that there has been such a crisis as this;
and the remembrance of it is apt to enhance the bitter-
ness of your despondency. But it need not, and it should
not do so. Rather let it open your eyes to the utter
worthlessness of such pleas as the adversary may be
urging for keeping you insnared in his wiles. Take

176 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD :

courage for one prompt and peremptory exertion, with
fear and trembling, of your own power to will and to do,
in the humble confidence that God worketh in you both to
will and to do of his good pleasure. There are really no
obstacles in your way, if only your false pride and shame
will give place to that fear of God which knows neither
fear of man nor favour of man; and if only you will be-
lieve assuredly that, with reference to the matter on
hand, the practical question to be determined, " now is
the accepted time, and now is the day of salvation."

* II. Thus far we have considered Herod's plea as urged
rather in weakness than in wilfulness ; and this is doubt-
less the most common case among professing Christians;
and it is, practically, the most interesting. But the parti-
tion between weakness and wilfulness is very slight and
slender; and as " secret faults" rapidly and imperceptibly
pass into " presumptuous sins," so what may be at first
the honest and really distressing complaint of occasional
infirmity, is apt to become, ere long, the contented acqui-
escence of a confirmed and customary " walking after the
course of this world."

The growth of this wilful spirit may be traced, first,
in your more deliberate justifying of yourself; and,
secondly, in your more daring defiance of God.

The first symptom is the increasing deliberation, and
perverse, systematic ingenuity, with which you justify
yourself. With increasing ease you evade duty, — with
increasing boldness you palliate sin.

Is a call of duty addressed to you, — whether from

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 177

without, through the word and providence of God, or
from within, through the stings or stirrings of your own
conscience ? Is the Spirit of the Lord dealing with you
on the score of any neglected obligation, whether of piety
and prayer, or of liberality and love ? Are you urged to
give more earnest heed than hitherto to the exercises of
private retirement and social worship, — the closet, the
study, the prayer-meeting, the Sabbath, and the sanctuary ?
Are you pressed and straitened in your own mind, as
to a more frequent and devout perusal of the word of
God, and a more punctual observance of all the hallowed
and hereditary order of a Scottish Christian home ? Or
is it some opportunity of greater usefulness and more
active zeal in the Lord's cause that is presented to you ?
And are you conscious of something very like a call from
heaven, to part with more of your substance for heavenly
ends, or to give more of your time and thoughts to such
works as may awaken joy among the heavenly hosts ?
And are you hesitating and hanging back ? It is not
that you either doubt or deny the general reasonableness
of what is asked. Gladly would you aim at the very
highest standard of Christian perfection, — as some whom
you can name may easily do, and as you yourself hope
one day to be able to do. At present, however, with
every desire on your part to aspire to the most elevated
style of Christianity, you do not see how it can be prac-
ticable. You are "exceeding sorry;" but your indis-
pensable engagements, and the demands of the society in
which you move, form an obstacle, in the meantime, in-
surmountable.

178 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

So far, your reasoning has the aspect of a graceful and
sorrowful declinature. But a question or two may be
permitted. Do you find, for instance, we may ask, that
this process of apologetic pleading is becoming easier to
yourself, — that you can satisfy yourself now with reasons
such as, at one time, would have availed you little, — that
appeals to your conscience, and misgivings in your con-
science, are disposed of more promptly than they once
were ? Or again, we may ask, Are you beginning to cal-
culate more confidently than you could once venture to
do, on the acquiescence of others ? Formerly, even when
'your own judgment, as you persuaded yourself, was con-
vinced, and your own conscience was consequently at
ease, you had doubts as to your being able to carry other
judgments along with you ; and you would have shrunk,
with a somewhat nervous sensitiveness, from the idea of
submitting your case unreservedly to the opinion of your
most intimate Christian friend, not to speak of the ver-
dict of the general Christian world._ Have you grown
bolder now ? Above all, we may ask finally, are you
secretly conscious that, when your apology is sustained,
whether by yourself or by others around you, there is
not really, in spite of all your expressions of regret, and
all your attempts to be " exceeding sorry/' a latent feel-
ing of relief, rather than a sense of disappointment, as if
it were not a labour of love which you were reluctantly
hindered from undertaking, but a task and irksome
drudgery, from which you had contrived to make your
escape?

Beware in such circumstances of the hardening of your

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 179

hearts through the deceitfulness of sin. If questions like
these cause you ever so little to wince and feel sore, it is
high time for you to awake out of sleep. It is no longer
in mere weakness alone, but partly, at least, in wilful-
ness also, that you are availing yourselves of the conve-
nient services of a "But yet;" and although you may
still, from time to time, experience enough of poignant
and sharp remorse to make you " exceeding sorry/' it is
now fast becoming a settled thing with you, that such
sorrow is simply a calamity and vexation, with which
you must lay your account, and of which, however trouble-
some it may be as a drawback on your liberty, it is
scarcely reasonable to expect that you should ever be able
altogether to get rid.

The same sad course might be traced in the palliation
of sin, as well as in the evasion of duty. And here the
rapid progress which may be made in the art of self-
justification conspicuously appears. For the vague and
indefinite character of the line that marks off the for-
bidden ground, enhances at once the force of temptation
and the facility of finding excuses for compliance. There
are so many difficult questions that may be raised as to
particular instances of worldly conformity, and the con-
siderations for and against them are so complicated, that
the path of duty comes to be enveloped in a cloud ; and
you are at a loss whether to go or to stay, whether to
resist or to yield. Thus you venture upon your first
liberties with doubtful steps, being really unable to deter-
mine what is best. But the misfortune is, that you soon
become unwilling too. The sort of haze, which at first

180 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

was so distracting and distressing, gradually becomes
rather welcome than otherwise. The difficulty which
you feel in determining the right course ceases to be so
vexatious as once it was, and you are rather inclined to
take refuge in it. Naturally, in such a state of mind,
you exaggerate the difficulty. In fact, you have no
objection to see the whole subject of the Church's separa-
tion from the world involved in an inextricable maze of
minute sophistry and special pleading. And you glory
in the doubtful interpretation and seeming elasticity of
gospel principles and gospel precepts — the very feature
about them over which you professed, at first, most pain-
fully to lament.

Alas ! how soon and how certainly does this mode of
thought, in regard to gospel principles and gospel precepts
as a whole, lead to a confirmed habit of tampering with
these principles and precepts in detail ! And then, with
what ease do you contrive to give yourself indulgence as
you practise the tricks of trade with which your pro-
fessional calling may be beset, and join in the lighter
levities, or in the graver follies, of your rank and station
in the world. You may be still sorry, " exceeding sorry ;"
but it is the sorrow of one bemoaning a fatality, not
bewailing a fault. And, accordingly, it scarcely at all
disturbs the equanimity of your complacent acquiescence
in many things which once might have greatly shocked
you, but which now you have learned to view in their
right light, as inevitable incidents of your place ;m<l
standing, — to be regretted, perhaps, but scarcely to be
remedied or redressed.

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 181

Thus your skill in the art of justifying yourself is
rapidly improved by practice ; and you may rely on it,
that your bold defiance of God will keep pace with it.
This is the other mark, or symptom, of weakness passing
into wilfulness, to which we referred ; and a very few words
may suffice to expose its insidious and deadly nature.

It is always a dangerous thing to tempt the Lord ; and
never is it more so than when you tempt him with a
sincere expression of sorrow, and under a plausible plea
of necessity. It may be the very turning-point of your
spiritual history. It is, indeed, a critical moment when
at any time you find yourself beginning to reckon before-
hand on the forbearance of God. Deeply, daily, must
you be indebted to that forbearance ; and the more you
know of the deceitfulness and desperate wickedness of
your own heart, and the more you grapple in close con-
flict with the world, the devil, and the flesh, the more
must you feel your ever-increasing debt of obligation.
But there is the utmost possible difference between your
owning the forbearance of God, as it is with unwearied
pity and patience exercised towards you in your actual
walk before him, and your anticipating that forbearance,
and laying your account with it in the previous planning
of your walk. The two states of mind are " wide as the
poles asunder." There is a great gulf between them, —
though, alas ! it is a gulf over which the deceitfulness of
sin can but too easily and imperceptibly effect a passage.

And if you once begin to venture on such a liberty
with God, where are you to stop ? It is in itself essen-
tially the height of presumption thus to treat the High

182 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD :

and Holy One. In fact, it is so daring and profane an
instance of impiety, that at first you shrink from ex-
plicitly avowing it, even to your own mind. But mark
the beginning of evil.

Is there ever a course of conduct to which you reconcile
yourself, perhaps with some difficulty, by the reflection,
that if it be not altogether right, God, in his long-suffering
patience, and in consideration of your difficulty, may
pass it by? What is this but the germ of the very
spirit that prompts the language of the wicked, " The
Lord seeth not, the Lord regardeth not ;" " Where is the
jjrod of judgment ?" — the spirit which the Lord so signally
rebukes, " These things hast thou done, and I kept
silence ; thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an
one as thyself: but I will reprove thee, and set them in
order before thine eyes " ? (Psalms x. xiv. L)

You may not, indeed, adopt the very words of the
ungodly ; you may even repudiate the thoughts and
imaginations of their hearts. But what is it that your
conduct really implies ? Let it be ever so trifling and
unimportant a step that you are called to take ; let it
be a step, moreover, about which ever so much may be
said in the way of specious advocacy and extenuation ;
and let it be taken with ever so many compunctious
visitings of regret, and under ever so strong a pressure of
necessity; — still, is it a step for which, as you take it,
you have a shrewd idea that you will have to draw more
or less upon the forbearance of God? Then, be sure,
there is nothing whatever of a difference in principle
between that step, so taken, and the bravado of the

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 183

scoffers in the last days — " Where is the promise of his
coming?" And further, be sure that, having once passed
the line of a holy and scrupulous conscientiousness, there
is nothing whatever likely to arrest your progress before
you reach the stage of hardened insensibility, when you
can sin with a high and careless hand, as if you might
brave and defy the Holy One to judge you.

Surely this is a consideration well fitted to warn and
alarm. God is not mocked. It is no light matter to
trifle with him. His forbearance towards sin is not so
cheaply purchased as that you may make a convenience
of it at your pleasure ; nor does his way of dealing with
you, in reconciling you to himself, warrant your pre-
sumptuous dealing with him as if he were to accommo-
date himself to you. The Cross of Christ, the just and
necessary price of God's long-suffering patience and your
perfect peace, makes all such compromise impossible; and
the full and free forgiveness of the glorious gospel cries
shame on the very thought of it. It is the sure sign of
the bondage of guilty fear, to be ever and anon stealing
abroad on some sly errand of doubtful gain or pleasure,
in the hope of escaping notice or evading punishment.
The liberty of conscious acceptance and acquittal — the
love and joy of adoption and conscious sonship — demand
a franker and more guileless walk. To give way to
circumstances which you think you cannot control, being
all the while " exceeding sorry," but yet preparing before-
hand the plausible excuses that are to justify your doubtful
choice, — is to enter on a course of double dealing with
God, such as can scarcely fail to land you, perhaps before

184 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

you are well aware of it, in the sin of lying against the
Holy Ghost, and turning the grace of God into licentious-
ness,— the sin, in short, of crucifying the Son of God
afresh, and putting him to open shame.

We have thus sought to trace the progress of that
helpless frame of mind of which we have an example in
the miserable imbecility of Herod. We have followed out
to its legitimate issue this poor habit of self-justification,
which leads you to shelter yourself, as if you were the
passive victim of an irresistible fatalism, under pleas of
strong necessity and constraint; — pleas compelling you,
•as you allege, in a manner, to give in. We close with
two brief remarks: How unsatisfying, at the best, are
these pleas ! And how unsubstantial !

In the first place, Whom do they really satisfy ? Not
yourself; for you are not happy and at your ease, so
long as you have so many scruples about yielding, and so
long as in yielding you are so " exceeding sorry/' Nor are
your tempters satisfied. They hail your concession, no
doubt, so far as it goes, and are glad to have you taken
in their wiles; but your remaining reluctance is a vexa-
tion to them; and they will not rest until you go with
them freely and joyfully, instead of being so " exceeding
sorry/' Far less will your God be satisfied. If your
own heart condemn you in urging your excuses, and
convict you of secret guile, — God is greater than your
heart, and knoweth all things. You are labouring in
vain, and spending your strength for nought. Come, try
a more excellent way; especially since, —

In the second place, these pleas of necessity that em-

AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING. 185

barrass you are as unsubstantial as they are unsatisfying.
They have no real force in themselves, nor is there any-
where, in any quarter, any right or power to enforce
them. On the contrary, there is One not far off, but
" standing at the door and knocking ;" and if only you
will " open to Him/' He will put an end at once to this
miserable strife, — He " will come in unto you, and sup
with you, and you with Him/'

Call John out of his prison; let him be your friend
once more. Call on Him of whom John bore witness;
or rather hear Him when he calls on you. Jesus will
speedily cut the knot of all your worldly entanglements,
and take you to be altogether his own ; — " ye shall know
the truth, and the truth shall make you free/' There is
no halting or hesitating with him; no drawback, no re-
serve, no " But yet" in the whole history of his dealings
with poor sinners among men. No such word is upon
his gracious lips; nor is the thing it signifies in his large
and loving heart. When was he ever found qualifying,
or guarding, or hedging the boundless liberality of his
calls and offers in the gospel, by such a poor afterthought
and cautious reservation as this "But yet"? "Come
unto me ! " " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come unto
the waters ! " " Whosoever will, let him come and take
of the water of life freely ! " " Whosoever cometh unto
me, I will in no wise cast out ! " Is there ever any " But
yet" appended to any of these gracious invitations? No!
you are complete in Christ. Believing, you have all things
in Christ, unconditionally, unreservedly, assuredly, and for
ever, without " if," or " but," or any such thing. Then

186 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS HEROD:

believe, and have done with this " But yet" at once, and
once for all. Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. Receive
him as he is freely offered to you in the gospel.

" I clo — I try — I would," you answer ; " But yet —
What! O sinner, perishing as thou art, wilt thou still
harp on this poor evasion! When it is thy Saviour, thy
God, who is speaking to thee, — giving thee eternal life, —
holding forth to thee, as thine for the taking, all that thou
canst need for the forgiveness of all thine iniquities and
the healing of all thy diseases, — is it for thee to cavil
and question any further, thwarting the full and free
grace of his proposal with this subterfuge of thine, this
equivocating "But yet"? You would fain believe, and
have peace in believing, and be all that Jesus would have
you to be ; " But yet — " Nay, whatever you are going
to add, whether you are about to complain of coldness, or
deadness, or unworthiness, or unbelief, — whatever is to
follow this "But yet" of yours — stop, pause, be ashamed
and confounded. Whatever it may be that you are on
the point of pleading, can it be anything else than an
insult to your Saviour and an offence to your God, to put
in any plea whatever in bar of the mercy and the grace
which he so freely gives? Come, rather close with him
now, unconditionally, unreservedly. Let " ifs " and " buts"
have place no longer in your surrender of yourself to
him, as they have no place in his giving of himself for
you, or in his giving of himself to you. Then, " with
enlargement of heart, you will run in the way of his pre-
cepts: you will walk at liberty when you have respect
unto all his commandments."

PETER: HIS GENERAL CHARACTER. 187

X.

PETER— HIS GENERAL CHARACTER— ITS
STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS.

" And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee
on the water. And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out
of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw
the wind boisterous, he was afraid ; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying,
Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught
him, and said unto him, 0 thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt ? "
—MATT. xiy. 28-31.

THE incident here recorded illustrates in a very striking
manner the character of the Apostle Peter. His whole
conduct, on this occasion, is such as vividly to exhibit
the peculiarity of his natural temperament ; and the
rather, when we trace its remarkable though undesigned
agreement with what we read elsewhere concerning him.
The character, indeed, of this holy apostle is not in
any part of the sacred writings directly drawn ; for the
historians of the Bible do not deal in professed delineations
of individual character, it being their province to narrate,
and not to comment. Hence they never undertake to
describe at length what such a man was ; they content
themselves with telling us simply what he did. And
this they do without reserve, and generally without
remark, — neither elaborately magnifying what is excel-
lent, nor studiously palliating what is wrong, but per-
mitting facts to speak for themselves, and leaving it to
the reader to form his own judgment concerning the

188 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

merits or defects of the various actors in the scenes which
they honestly set before him.

Now, this artless, unaffected simplicity of narration,
well becomes the authority of sacred and inspired evan-
gelists ; it contributes much to gain credit to their testi-
mony, while it approves itself to the taste of every
competent and intelligent judge of such matters. For
what person of good sense and good feeling can refuse
to believe authors, every page of whose writings bears
the stamp of honesty, and of that courage which is fear-
less and careless of everything but the truth ? And, on
the other hand, is it not a source of the most refined
satisfaction and delight, a high intellectual entertainment
as well as an interesting moral experiment, to exercise
our own skill in discerning and discriminating character,
— to trace for ourselves its broad outline, its marked and
distinctive features, its nicer and more minute and delicate
shades of peculiarity ; and to observe how, in different
histories, and in all varieties of situation, the same indi-
vidual is, without any appearance of artful contrivance
or constraint, represented as uniformly and most har-
moniously in keeping, if we may so speak, and in accord-
ance both with nature and with himself?

Thus, to those who delight in inquiries and speculations
respecting the individual diversities of mental and moral
constitution among men, the character of the Apostle
Peter must be an interesting study, as it is found to be
undesignedly and incidentally delineated in the histories
of the New Testament. There is nowhere in these histories
any laboured description of his habits and manners, any

HIS GENERAL CHARACTER. 189

formal enumeration or catalogue of his good and bad
qualities respectively, such as other historians are so apt
to deal in. But a few striking instances of his conduct
set the man before us. On whatever occasions we meet
with this apostle, we find him always natural, and always
the same ; distinguished by individual peculiarities from
others, yet throughout, in all particulars, fairly and
beautifully consistent with himself. And this perfect
yet simple consistency we are irresistibly led to attribute,
not to any concerted scheme of fiction, but to the native
harmony of truth — the unity and uniformity of a common
living original. For we feel convinced, as we read and
study it, that such a character, thus artlessly unfolded in
such different circumstances and by different authors,
must have been taken by each of them apart, directly
from the life.

The most prominent and distinguishing peculiarities of
the Apostle Peter's natural character seem to have been
these two : — a certain hasty and generous impetuosity of
temper on the one hand, and a certain occasional imbecility
or infirmity of purpose on the other ; two qualities of
mind which are found not unfrequently combined. Easily
and deeply impressed with new feelings, and prompt to
decide at first with frank and fearless honesty, but with-
out enough of calm consideration, he was apt to be after-
wards daunted or disconcerted by difficulties unforeseen
and unprovided for. When any new object of pursuit
was presented to his view, or any new scene or topic
crossed his imagination, his eager spirit seized immediately

190 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

on some one of its grand, or imposing, or affecting features.
This single idea roused his enthusiasm, and so occupied,
overpowered, and engrossed all his soul, that doubt seemed
impertinent and delay intolerable ; and he had neither
thought nor feeling for anything except that upon which
for the time his ambition might be set, — an ambition
occasionally perhaps fanciful, yet always amiable, and
excellent, and noble. In the ardour and impatience of
his confident hope, to resolve was to accomplish. With
his eye kindled and his heart burning within him, and
both alike intently fixed on some one high and honourable
aim, he could not bear to be distracted by the remon-
strances of cold and timid caution. He could see nothing
formidable in his enemy. He could feel no weakness
in himself. But passing over in idea all intervening
hazards, confident in the strength of his own determina-
tion, he grasped the victory ere yet his armour was put
on ; and, when he had scarcely even conceived his plan, he
seemed to himself to have already attained and secured
his end.

Now this honest and dauntless spirit did indeed give
boldness, energy, and warm cordiality, to his professions
and his resolutions, in every enterprise which he under-
took; but then, as it was too hasty for deliberation, and
would not suffer him to pause before setting out, that he
might look around him or look before him, it exposed
him to the risk of being taken at unawares and when off
his guard, by dangers, against which a little more of
timely foresight might have effectually defended him.

Hence that mixture which we observe in Peter's

HIS GENEEAL CHARACTER. 191

character of zeal and weakness, — of zeal in purpose and in
promise, — of weakness, sometimes, in performance. He
was always sincere and earnest in his intentions, although,
being often rash and inconsiderate, he heedlessly presumed
upon his own strength, and unwarily exposed himself to triaL

Thus, on all occasions, we find him the first and most
forward of our Lord's followers, both to avow his attach-
ment and to put it to the^proof.

On his very first introduction, indeed, to the Lord —
when his brother Andrew and he, along with several
others, were attending on the ministry of the Baptist,
and Andrew brought him to Jesus, of whom the Baptist
spoke, with the glad announcement, " We have found
the Messias," — Peter was specially noticed in language
having reference, as we can scarcely doubt, in part at
least, to his personal character, as well as to his destined
position in the church : " Thou art Simon the son of
Jona : thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by inter-
pretation, A stone" (John i. 42). And we begin to see
something of his peculiar temper, his extreme suscepti-
bility of impression, and his quickness of feeling, in his
next interview with the Lord on the shore of the Sea of
Galilee, after the miraculous draught of fishes (Luke v.
8, 9). He is far more deeply moved by the miracle than
his companions ; he is affected with a more vivid sense
of the holiness of a present God, and his own guilt in his
sight : " Depart from me ; for I am a sinful man, O Lord/'
But soon he is reassured by the gracious promise, " Fear
not ; from henceforth thou shalt catch men" — and is
ready to forsake all and to follow Jesus.

192 SCKIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

All throughout his waiting upon the personal ministry
of Jesus, we trace the same fervency of spirit.

For instance, when our Lord questioned his disciples
as to their opinion of his authority, " Whom say ye that
I am ? " it was Peter who promptly, in their name, made
confession of their faith — " Thou art the Christ, the Son
of the living God ;" and when their Master, seeing many
draw back offended, put it to the twelve, " Will ye also
go away?" it was Simon Peter who instantly and
eagerly replied, " Lord, to whom shall we go ? thou
hast the words of eternal life" (Matt. xvi. 1 6 ; John
'vi. 68).

Again : when Jesus filled the minds of his disciples
with grief, by announcing his intention of going up, in
the face of all his enemies, to Jerusalem, there to suffer
and to die, it was Peter who, on the first impulse of his
enthusiastic affection — without thinking what a liberty
he was taking, in thus objecting and contradicting
instead of humbly acquiescing — presumed to remon-
strate, " Be this far from thee, Lord ;" which inconsider-
ate and unwarrantable boldness exposed the ardent
apostle to that severe reproof, " Get thee behind me,
Satan." It was Peter, moreover, who on the Mount of
Transfiguration, when James and John were overpowered
by the glory of the scene, was ready to make the eager
proposal, " Lord, it is good for us to be here : let us
build tabernacles/' And it was Peter who, in the gar-
den, stung with a holy rage, drew his sword for his Mas-
ter's defence, in that hasty act which his Master so
solemnly rebuked, " All they that take the sword shall

HIS GENEEAL CHAEACTEK. 193

perish with the sword" (Matt. xvi. 22, 23; xvii. 4;
xxvi. 52).

Again: when the Saviour exhibited that memorable
example of kindly condescension in washing the feet of
his own servants, still it was Peter who ventured to
argue with him ; first bluntly refusing to receive so
humble a service from a Master so divine, " Thou shalt
never wash my feet." And then, whenever he hears
the significant words, " If I wash thee not, thou hast
no part with me," see how, with his wonted warmth
and impetuosity, he earnestly exclaims, " Lord, not my
feet only, but also my hands and my head" (John
xiii. 6-9).

And once more : when our Lord, having risen, appears
on the shore, and makes himself known to his disciples
as they are fishing in a boat at a little distance, and
when Peter, instead of waiting with his companions, and
coming in the boat to land, casts himself in his haste
into the sea, — who fails to recognise, in this simple but
very characteristic incident, the same ardent and eager
temperament which uniformly distinguished the zealous
apostle ? The whole interview, also, which follows, teems
with little traits and incidents, all beautifully illustrating
the character of Peter. We see him the very same man
in his penitence that he was before in his pride. How
glad is he to meet his Master again ! How anxious to
win his kind eye once more — the eye which, when last
he met it, was so full of wounded love ! How eager also
to testify his returning affection, and how prompt and
bold to profess and promise anew, though in humbler

194 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

faith and a more chastened spirit, yet with all his wonted
warmth, " Lord, thou knowest all things ; thou knowest
that I love thee I" Nay, even the slight question which
he then asked concerning the fate of his brother apostle
John, " Lord, and what shall this man do?" — this ques-
tion, which every reader at once feels that Peter, rather
than any other, was likely to put, suits his somewhat
forward, yet affectionate turn of mind — -just as perfectly
as does our Lord's reply, "What is that to thee? follow
thou me" (John xxi).

So hearty and affectionate a disposition — altogether
disinterested, generous, and honourable — admirably fitted
this apostle for the endearments of friendship. And
accordingly Peter evidently enjoyed, in a high degree,
the private and personal attachment of the Master whom
he so warmly loved. Jesus, indeed, seems to have all
along taken a lively interest in the discipline and im-
provement of this apostle's amiable yet imperfect charac-
ter. Thus, even in the most trying scene of his life,
Jesus failed not to remember his erring disciple ; at the
very time, too, when that disciple had meanly disowned
and denied him. " The Lord turned and looked upon
Peter;" and by that look — of more than human power
and more than human tenderness — melted his heart to
penitence : " Peter went out and wept bitterly." At
resurrection, also, in the message which he sent by
women — how kindly and considerately does he
special mention of his fallen follower and friend :
tell the disciples, and Peter!" What a token is this
the mourning apostle, after his grievous sin and his bit

HIS GENERAL CHARACTER. 195

weeping ! And when they meet, still remembering the
disciple who had fallen — how graciously does Jesus take
an opportunity of accepting his penitence, and sealing
and ratifying the penitent's pardon ! By the thrice-
repeated question, " Lovest thou me ?" he invites him
to renew his profession of attachment just as often and
as devotedly as he had formerly renounced it ; while, by
the thrice-repeated command, " Feed my lambs/' " Feed
my sheep/' he comforts his wounded spirit by thus most
solemnly and emphatically restoring him to the apostolic
office which he might be held to have forfeited (Luke
xxii. 61 ; Mark xvi. 7 ; John xxi. 15-17).

Still, however, the same cordial warmth of temper,
which raised him so far above all timid and selfish mean-
ness, and endeared him so much to his beloved Master,
occasionally hurried Peter heedlessly into situations of
danger, where his courage, surprised and alarmed, was
apt to fail. Thus it was in the instance of his lament-
able fall, when, but a few hours after his bold and manly
declaration, " Though I should die with thee, yet will I
not deny thee/' and after he had been ready to shed
blood in his Master's cause, he was betrayed by tempta-
tion— to which his own rash self-confidence exposed him,
and against which he had been expressly warned — into
a base and perjured disavowal of the very name he had
so sacredly pledged himself to honour (John xiii. 38;
xviii. 15-27). And thus it was, also, in the instance
of his walking with Jesus on the water (Matt. xiv.
28-31). We see how ready he was at first to expose
himself, and how soon and how easily he was terrified in

1 9 6 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER :

the moment of danger. While the other apostles were
scarcely yet recovered from the consternation into which
they were thrown, first by their helpless exposure to the
midnight storm, and then by the sudden appearance of
Jesus, whom, in their alarm, they mistook for a spirit, —
Peter, as usual, distinguished himself by the prompt
alacrity of his devotion. No sooner did he recognise his
Master, than — forgetting all the fears which he had
cherished in that Master's absence, while tossed on the
waves of the tempestuous sea — he thought only of his
presence now, eagerly and hastily seeking permission on
these very waves to meet with him. Yet no sooner did
he actually encounter their fury than his high-wrought
resolution gave way : " When he saw the wind boisterous,
he was afraid." Now he might have observed, before he
left the ship, that the wind was boisterous. But so
much was he struck by the amazing miracle which he
beheld, and so exclusively engrossed with the idea of
meeting his Master on so new and singular a path, that
he took no time to consider or reflect; and therefore he
was not proof against the terrors of the storm, which
rea.lly came upon him suddenly and altogether unexpect-
edly. How perfectly, how beautifully consistent, is this
occurrence with the apostle's general character ! How
much in harmony with the spirit of his ordinary con-
duct ! How natural in him, the first hasty excitement
of his zeal, as well as the subsequent failure of his confi-
dence and courage !

Such seems to have been the original character of the

HIS GENERAL CHARACTER. 197

Apostle Peter, — always impetuous, — sometimes weak.
Such he appeared before the memorable day of Pente-
cost and the descent of the Holy Ghost. After that
time, though we must observe a decided and remarkable
change in Peter, as in all the apostles, — his enthusiasm
being tempered, and his courage sustained, by the calm
resolution of a more spiritual faith, — still we may per-
ceive in his conduct abundant traces of his natural, his
wonted warmth, — and some little of his wonted weakness
too. For the inspiration of the Spirit did not then — any
more than his ordinary gracious influences do now — level
all the distinctive prominences and peculiarities of natural
constitution into one dead, flat, and insipid uniformity.
The persons inspired still retained their natural tempera-
ment of mind and body. They were changed as to the
direction of their powers ; but still, in respect of the
powers themselves, they were the same as before. So
Peter, even after he came under the guidance of the
Holy Spirit, showed his former high determination and
hearty impetuosity. For do we not still find him fore-
most among the apostles in their holy work and warfare,
—the most ardent, the most forward and earnest, in the
labours of his missionary office, — the boldest in facing
danger, — the most dauntless in encountering death ? The
early chapters of the Book of Acts sufficiently attest the
prominent part which Peter took in all the proceedings
and in all the sufferings of the early Church; and show
how heartily he threw his whole soul and spirit into the
glorious cause which he was called and commissioned to
promote. And as even their inspiration did not render

198 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

the apostles perfect or faultless, so after his great spiritual
change we may still detect in Peter some remains of his
original defect. In one instance at least, as we know
from the testimony of his " beloved brother Paul/' he
betrayed a culpable weakness, when, out of deference to
the prejudices of the Jews at Antioch, — whom he desired
to conciliate, or feared to offend, — he in some way dis-
guised or dissembled his own views relative to the liberty
of the Gentile converts, and their right of exemption
from the yoke of Jewish ceremonies ; compromising
thereby the essential and fundamental doctrine of the
gospel — -justification by faith alone, without ceremonies
or observances of any kind, or any works at ah1 of any
law. In that instance Paul tells the Galatians concern-
ing Peter : " I withstood him to the face, because he was
to be blamed/' It was the very fault which had pre-
viously characterized him that in this instance he was to
be blamed f6r, — a want of sufficient firmness and deci-
sion in following out his own purposes, and adhering,
amid all difficulties and trials from without, to his own
higher principle and better judgment (Gal. ii. 11-21).

Such then was Peter — such a man naturally — such a
disciple — and, through grace, such an apostle.

Now his character is exhibited for our instruction.
From his imperfection we may learn a lesson of humility
— from his infirmity a lesson of self-distrust. For if he
was misled thoughtlessly and incautiously, through ignor-
ance of his weakness, surely it little becomes us to pre-
sume upon our own strength, or to trust in our own

HIS GENERAL CHARACTER. 199

hearts. We are to shun his errors ; but then let us not
forget his admirable, his noble excellences. His one
great fault of rash and inconsiderate self-confidence should
teach us prudence; but let us beware of that prudence
which is indolence, or reluctance, or selfishness in dis-
guise. We do well, no doubt, to reprove his impetuous
and impatient hastiness of temperament. But his affec-
tionate, disinterested, and unreserved attachment to the
Saviour — his generous and devoted earnestness in the
cause of God and Truth — may reprove and put to shame
those doubtful and dilatory scruples, by which we would
fain excuse ourselves from the " work of faith, and labour
of love, and patience of hope." Truly it well becomes
your dull and drowsy formalists in religion, to criticise
and coolly to condemn this prince of all the apostles, and
to plead to themselves his occasional error in one extreme,
as a justification of their continual crime in the other !
For surely, after all, there may be as much of weak
timidity in a cold heart, as there can be of rashness in a
keen temper and an ardent spirit. There are men who
are ever ready, with the chilling air of insinuated doubt,
to blast and wither the energy of religious hope ; —
prophets of evil, who would suppress every lofty aspira-
tion of faith, and discourage every wish and every plan
of good, by the poor suspicions of their shrewd policy
and their worldly wisdom ; anticipating always the
hazard of failure, just hinting the chances of coming
danger and defeat. But let such men know, that if to
make rash vows and inconsiderate attempts in a holy
cause, is folly, — to make no vows and no attempts at

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SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER :

all, is sin. Let them look — let us all look — to the
generosity of Peter's self-denial and self-devotion. And
while we resolve more circumspectly and act more delibe-
rately than he sometimes did, let us learn to resolve and
to act as nobly for God, and in the strength of God We
may seek to avoid his impetuosity ; but let us not forget,
that, without something of his enthusiasm, nothing great,
nothing good, can ever be achieved. There may be dan-
ger when there is zeal without knowledge. Is the danger
less when there is no zeal at all ?

TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. - 201

XI.

PETER— THE TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH
OF HIS FAITH.

" 0 them of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt ? "—MATT. xiv. 28-31.

THE incident recorded in this passage of Scripture not
only illustrates generally the character of the Apostle
Peter, but affords a particular example of his faith — its
power, and its weakness too — such as may be usefully
studied. The whole of this midnight scene, indeed, is full
of instruction to the believer, especially in seasons of dark-
ness and doubt. The disciples are sent to sea alone ; their
Master constrains them to get into a ship and go before
him to the other side of the lake, while he remains be-
hind, first to dismiss the multitude whom he has miracu-
lously fed in the desert, and then to go up into a moun-
tain apart to pray. At first, in the calm evening and on
the smooth waters, fresh as they were from the wondrous
feast, the disciples might think little of their temporaiy
separation from their Lord, as they cheerfully launched
forth their little bark, in anticipation of a short and easy
voyage, and a happy meeting on the other side. Sud-
denly the sky is overcast, the wind is contrary, and, mid-
way across the sea, the ship is tossed with waves. And
where at this critical moment is Jesus ? Why is he not
with them, to say to the stormy billows — " Peace, be
still?" Has he forgotten them? "This is their in-

202

SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER :

firmity." Did they not "remember the works of the
Lord and his wonders" — not in their case — "of old?"
(Ps. Ixxvii. 10, 11.) Alas! they feel desolate and for-
lorn. And, lo ! to trouble them still more, here is a
vision, an apparition of a shadowy, spectral form, in the
dark mist — the spirit of the tempest, as it might seem,
mocking their helplessness as he makes them " reel to and
fro, and stagger like a drunken man ! " Truly " they are
at their wits' end ;" when a blessed voice out of the gloom
reassures them, and the well-known accents fall upon their
ears — " Be of good cheer ; it is I ; be not afraid."
, What a lesson to a doubting soul ! What a rebuke of
unbelief ! " The waters saw thee, 0 God, the waters saw
thee; they were afraid. Thy way is in the sea, and thy
path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known"
(Ps. Ixxvii. 16, 19).

Rushing, with his usual impetuosity, from one extreme
to another, Peter not only recovers his self-possession, but
rises as by a rebound to the highest pitch of boldness.
We may be sure he had been at least as much depressed
as his fellow-disciples — as ready to despair of help while
Jesus was absent — as apt to mistake his abrupt approach
in an unexpected way as if it were a vision of judgment,
and not a visit of love. But what a start he makes, on
the instant, out of the lowest depth of trouble and terror,
to what might seem the very romance of confidence and
daring, rather than the chastened and sober reality of
humble faith ! And that there is something of the spirit
of romance here, we are far from denying; nay, it is this
very feature in the incident before us that gives it, in our

TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 203

view, at once its charm and its value; — its charm, as a
picture of most attractive interest; and its value, as a
lesson of the utmost practical worth. Certainly, the alter-
nations of a mind like Peter's — even when it seems to be
capriciously tossed to and fro between what looks too like
despair and what savours too much of fool -hardiness —
are preferable to the monotony of an ever placid and un-
broken calm. The living enthusiasm of faith, with all
the irregular fluctuations of its beating pulse and throb-
bing heart, is better far than the uniformity of a dead
sleep, or sloth. It is not always the most unwholesome
weather when the glass shows rapid variations between
the points of storm and fair; nor is it a bad sign of the
glass itself, that its index sometimes makes sudden enough
leaps upon the dial-plate, in obedience to these atmospheric
changes.

There is life, then, in Peter's faith — life, and not a little
health too; otherwise it would have nothing in it either
to attract or to edify. But the incident which we are now
to consider is both attractive and edifying; affording us
an insight into the workings of a lively faith in a lively
soul, and bringing out, in the liveliest manner, its genuine
sincerity, its imperfection, and its ultimate prevalence and
triumph.

That Peter's faith in Jesus was at all events and upon
the whole sincere, is manifest from these tw ) circumstances
in his behaviour : — that at the first, in dependence upon
Jesus, he left the vessel; and, again, when sinking, called
upon him for aid. He must have believed that it was no

204 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

incorporeal spirit, but his own beloved Master, whom he
saw, and whose voice of encouragement he heard ; and he
must have been thoroughly convinced that he was both
able and willing to sustain his footsteps on the treacherous
path which he invited him to tread : otherwise his conduct,
in attempting to walk on the water, was utter madness;
and his cry when sinking, " Lord, save me ! " was the
mere raving of delirious terror. His faith, then, might
be weak, and liable to the interruption of doubt ; but still
it was genuine and hearty.

And the very words of our Saviour's reproof manifestly
imply that it was so : " 0 thou of little faith, wherefore
didst thou doubt ? " Peter is not charged with the sin of
having no faith at all, though he is reproved for having
little faith. Nay, at the very instant of his culpable
doubting, his faith was in active exercise; for in faith he
had been willing to comply with his Master's call, and in
faith he was making his earnest prayer to liim for help.
He had faith, therefore, and that sincere faith, though he
had not much faith, or strong faith. He had such a faith
as made him hazard his life on the truth believed, and
told him where in danger to seek for safety.

By the example, therefore, of Peter's faith, we are
taught that uneasy thoughts and anxious fears, however
inconsistent they may be with the abundance and the
strength of energetic faith, are not always or necessarily
inconsistent with its genuine reality. He who doubts in
the time of trial is evidently a man of comparatively little
faith, and, as such, may be reproved; for his doubt inti-
mates some remains of unreasonable and unworthy dis-

TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 205

trust: " Wherefore dost thou doubt?" But still he may
be a man of true and sincere faith. Nay, his very doubt
and disquietude may arise from an experience which, while
it proves the weakness of his faith, must be regarded, at
the same time, as proving anything rather than his total
want of faith ; — as from a deep conviction of his own sin-
fulness and helplessness, which is rarely found unconnected
with some measure of a believing knowledge of Christ,
his holiness, his grace, his power ; or from a keen sense of
those very difficulties and temptations to which the
warmth, the zeal, and the devotedness of his believing
love to Christ may have mainly contributed to expose
him.

Yes, there are difficulties, there are dangers and dis-
asters, in the true believer's course, of which your smooth
formalist and mere worldly professor of Christianity can
know nothing. There are terrors in sin which the
unawakened conscience never feels; trials in a holy walk
which the " contented dweller in decencies" never has to
face; vicissitudes in the inward conflict with corruption,
and the inward fellowship of the soul with its God, of
which they who pace the dull routine of outward ordi-
nances, and call such bodily exercise religion, cannot even
imagine the possibility. Ah! it is easy for those who
have never learned to be tremblingly alive to the realities
of God's wrath on the one hand, and his blessed favour
on the other; who have never looked hell in the face,
and never basked, in the sunshine of God's reconciled
countenance as a prelude of heaven itself; who have never
felt what it is to cast a trembling glance on the Lamb of

206 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

God, and lay a trembling hand on the atoning sacrifice, —
scarcely venturing, even on the strongest and broadest
assurances of the free offer and full welcome of the gospel,
to commit their souls to a gracious and waiting Saviour;
who have never, in short, encountered the actual work
and warfare of a life of unreserved self-dedication to
God; — it is easy for them to be placid and unruffled in
their temper, and to pass through this world of sin and
sorrow with an equanimity that seems entitled to all
praise. No wonder that any record of the tips and downs
of a spiritual man's experience should seem to them either
• a mystery or a lie. The doubts, and fears, and groanings,
and unspeakable cries and tears of David, in the Psalms, —
or of One greater than David, — they set down as mere
exaggerations. But if there be any who find in such
deep movements of soul only too true a picture of their
own state — if there be any who, in trouble of body or
anxiety of mind, are apt to be shaken and to be afraid —
it is something for them to learn and see, from this instance
of Peter, that such doubting, however it may indicate
remaining unbelief, is not necessarily of itself a proof,
either that they do not believe now, or that they have
never believed at all. And if, in the midst of such
natural anxieties, and the fears which beset him on every
side, the Christian, when sinking under the. weight of
conscious infirmities, is enabled in his distress to call upon
the Lord — " Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, 0
Lord" — then, though his faith may be little, it may be a
true faith still ; and his earnest ejaculation, " Lord, save
me," will be heard and answered as a prayer of faith.

TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 207

Nay, more ; as in the case of Peter, this very proof — this
practical and experimental instance of his' unbelief — will
itself be made the occasion of strengthening and en-
couraging his faith. The Saviour's hand will be stretched
forth to help, and his ready Spirit will descend to com-
fort, even while his voice of mild expostulation — ever
averse to break the bruised reed or to quench the smok-
ing flax — gently reprimands the sin and folly of distrust :
" 0 thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt ?"

But let us further observe, that the faith of Peter,
though sincere, was yet imperfect; and accordingly, our
Lord's question, "Wherefore didst thou doubt?" while it
implied a gracious acknowledgment of his prayer, even in
the instant of his faith beginning to waver, implied also
a reproof of that very wavering. And the reproof was
just. The question might well be asked of Peter, and of
every one of us, when, like him, under the very eye of
our Saviour — who, exalted as he is, and gone apart to
pray for us, still bends on us a look of sympathy — we
are ready to faint in the trials to which he calls us ; —
the question might well be asked, " Wherefore dost thou
doubt?" Wherefore? for surely while He is so near us
there is no cause of fear. Such doubt, both in Peter's
case and in ours, must be alike unreasonable and sinful.

Let us mark here the progress of Peter's temporary
distrust and doubting, that we may see exactly the nature
of his sin.

When Peter, then, first recognised his Master's presence,
so forward was he to profess his faith, and to put his reso-

,^

208 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

lution to the test, even at the hazard of his life, — so great
was his anxiety to meet Jesus, and so implicit his confi-
dence, that he was willing to trust himself with him
even on the yielding waves. Yet, notwithstanding this
almost childish eagerness, he was not so hasty but that
he felt the necessity of Ms Master's sanction being previ-
ously given to a proposal which, without such a divine
sanction, and the implied promise of divine help, it must
have been folly in him, or in any man, to make. Accord-
ingly, he desired to know his Master's will and pleasure
in this matter. He did not venture upon a single step
.without first inquiring what his Master would have him
to do. He appealed to his judgment and sought his
countenance: " Lord, if it be thou" — as surely, indeed, it
is thou — "bid me come unto thee on the water/' He
would not go unbidden. Impetuous as he was, he would
not run into danger without a call, — he waited for his
Master's invitation. It may seem to us, indeed, that in
courting and seeking that invitation, the apostle was too
rash and hasty. And certainly it does appear, that when
he confidently challenged so severe a trial of his faith, he
was not sufficiently aware of the weakness of that faith ; —
though, after all, where his Lord was, it was surely good
for him to be ; and he could scarcely avow too strong an
attachment to Jesus, or cherish too impatient a longing
to bear him company, through whatever dangers his way
might lie.

One thing, however, at least is evident, — when he
received the invitation, " Come," Peter unquestionably
did right in complying with it. His error afterwards

TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 209

consisted in this — that he distrusted that divine assists
ance which had been virtually pledged and secured to
him. But, certainly, after the profession which he had
made, and the command which he had received, there
was no room for reluctance or hesitation. He could not
now draw back without a complete renunciation of all
his love to the Saviour, and all his hope in his mercy.
He made the profession, perhaps, somewhat rashly, when
he abruptly proposed to venture on so bold an attempt ;
yet it was a good profession, a good proposal after all, — it
had obtained his Master's approbation. And at all events,
when he was taken at his word, and required to prove
the sincerity of his profession, by acting according to his
own proposal, he had only one course to pursue, — that of
instant and unreserved obedience. He did not, therefore,
we now see, presumptuously and needlessly encounter this
trial of his faith. He did so at his Master's invitation,
and by his Master's express authority. And accordingly,
we may observe, while Jesus reproved him for his doubt-
ing in the time of trial, he did not reprove him for his
spontaneous proposal to come unto him, much less for his
readiness to obey in faith, and at all personal hazards, the
commandment which he had received to come. Thus the
sin of Peter, in this instance, must be held to lie, not
certainly by any means in the zealous profession which
he made of his faith, nor in the prompt alacrity of his
faithful obedience, but in the weakness and unsteadfast-
ness of that faith which he professed, and in which he
obeyed.

Such precisely was Peter's sin, — such is the sin against
o

210 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

which we have to guard. For we too, from time to
time, make precisely such a profession of our faith as
Peter did, and express like him our desire of meeting
with our Lord and Saviour, even though it should be on
the waves of a stormy ocean. When we see, — as it is
hoped each one of us not unfrequently in devout musing
sees, — when we see him standing not far from our souls,
and hear him addressing to us those words of mild
encouragement with which he revived the drooping hearts
of his faint and disconsolate disciples, " Be of good cheer ;
it is I ; be not afraid ;" — when thus, in his own ap-
pointed means and ordinances, we recognise a present
God, especially if it be after a season of midnight gloom
and tempest ; — in the ardour of our faithful and honest
zeal we are constrained to exclaim with Peter, ' Lord,
since now I know that it is thou, bid me come unto
thee and I will confidently and joyfully come, even walk-
ing, if need be, on the dark and deceitful waters of the
deep/ It may be that we often make this profession
somewhat rashly and inconsiderately, presuming upon our
own competency, not knowing sufficiently our weakness,
or pausing to think of the temptations which await us.
But then we have professed, and surely we do not repent
of our profession. From time to time, with peculiarly
affecting solemnity, in the holy sacrament of the Supper
we profess, — every Sabbath, every day of the week, in
our retirement, we profess — this very morning, in our
closets, — this Sabbath, in the Lord's house, — this Com-
munion Sabbath, at the Lord's table, — with tears and
prayers we have professed our willingness, our anxiety,

TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 211

to go to Jesus, even though we should have to go through
darkness and a stormy sea. We have said that our great
delight, our supreme desire, is to be with Jesus, and to
enjoy his holy and spiritual fellowship ; that, with this
view, we are prepared cheerfully to renounce our most
favourite sin, — fearlessly to encounter the most formidable
enemy of our peace, — resolutely to deny ourselves, and
to take up our cross and follow wherever he points the
way ; that as we advance towards him in our Christian
course, no difficulties are to shake our holy resolution,
since we are willing even to cut off our right hand, and
to pluck out our right eye, — to sacrifice our dearest hopes
and wishes, — if they keep us apart from him, or cause us
to offend against him. All this we have professed, be-
lieving that He who sustained Peter on the water will
uphold us also by his mighty power ; knowing assuredly
that there can be no danger in the sea when our Saviour
is with us, — no terror in the boisterous and stormy wind
when He, our God, is there.

Doubtless, in all this zeal of profession and determina-
tion, there may have been sin, because there may have
been self-deception. For in what act, in what promise
or purpose of faith, is there not both? In the excite-
ment of an impressive religious ordinance — in the en-
grossing earnestness of our devotional feelings — we may
forget the pain of self-denial, the trials of active duty,
and our own insufficiency in the midst of these trials.
And so, being imposed upon by the transient warmth of
our enthusiasm, we may fancy our faith to be more firm
and trustworthy than in the hour of the world's tempta-

212 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

tions it may be found to be. But what then ? Do we
mend the matter by refusing now to fulfil our obliga-
tions ? Are we prepared to falsify altogether the profes-
sion which we have made ? — to decline the work which
we have undertaken ? — to resist the call which we have
received ? — wilfully to cast aside our Christian name and
our Christian hopes ; and pledged as we are — sealed and
devoted — yet to draw back, to the perdition of our
souls ?

Rather, if ever the blessed promises of the gospel have
been brought home with unwonted power to our hearts ;
if ever the love of a crucified Redeemer, set vividly
before us in the doctrines of his word, or in the symbols
of his death, has touched and affected us, and filled us
with new and strong emotions of holy zeal ; let us act as
we have felt, — let us practise as we have resolved, — not
resisting the Spirit nor despising the voice of Him who
speaketh now to us from heaven as he spoke to his dis-
ciples upon earth. When he says, " Come/' — let us be
ready to go, though we may be called to pass through
deep waters or walk on a troubled sea.

And then, in the trial and weakness of our faith, we
shall be encouraged as we remember the prevailing effi-
cacy of the apostle's seasonable prayer. " When he saw
the wind boisterous, he was afraid, and began to sink"
But still, in his alarm, he knew to whom he should apply
for aid. His faith, though failing, did not altogether
desert him ; his fear, though it shook his confidence, did
not hinder his prayer. He cried, saying, " Lord,

TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 213

me." And immediately, — for God is not slow to hear
the cry of the afflicted, and send help in the time of need,
— immediately Jesus lent his ear, and " stretched forth
his hand and caught him."

That ear is not now heavy, that it cannot hear. That
hand is not now shortened, that it cannot save ; it will
be extended to us also, when, in sin and in sorrow, trem-
bling and sinking, we call upon Him for aid. And, as
in the case of Peter, our very faintness of heart may be
turned to account for ministering not only a reproof of
our unbelief, but even a new strengthening of our faith.
For the Lord can bring good out of evil, and make all
things work together for good to them that love him.
When " this poor man cried, and the Lord heard him,"
he received a new encouragement, such as he would never
forget, to " trust and not be afraid." In his doubt and
despair he made application to One mighty to save, and
the application was not made in vain. In prayer, ejacu-
latory prayer, the mere cry of utter helplessness, he found
relief from terror, and help in his utmost need. So will
Jesus help his people still ; delivering their eyes from
tears, their feet from falling, and their souls from death.
His ready Spirit will turn their very groanings which
cannot be uttered into prayers ; and taking of what is
Christ's to show to their souls, he will become to them,
and in them, a Comforter indeed. And ever after, the
recollection of their experience in such a trying hour will
be at once for rebuke and for help and consolation ; — as
if there were ever before them the gracious face of the
living and loving Saviour, and ever ringing in their ears

214- SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER:

his calm clear voice of mingled reprimand and revival,
" 0 thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"

We are apt to complain sometimes of life's weary trials,
and of the difficulties and hardships of our Christian
calling ; but we may bless God for them all, as for our
greatest mercies, if by his grace they thus become the
means of directing our thoughts and our prayers to him.
When danger is absent, we are apt to depart from God,
because we forget our dependence, we forget our infirmity,
we are confident and strong in the apparent strength and
confidence of our faith ; and it is only when we feel that
faith to be actually giving way, — its strength all gone,
and its high confidence turned into doubt and fear, — it
is not till then that we are thoroughly convinced of its
utter insufficiency, and disposed to trust no longer in our
faith itself, but in the Lord our God, who is the object of
our faith.

Thus it may frequently happen, that, being conscious
of some particular duty hitherto neglected, or of some one
sin which very easily besets us, in the depth of our re-
pentance, and the holy ardour of our faith, we resolve now
to perform that duty punctually, and resolutely to renounce
that sin. Our repentance may be a repentance of godly
sorrow, our faith may be for the time sincere. And feel-
ing quite secure in the conscious integrity of our own good
purposes, we forget their weakness, — we forget the difficulty
of the task which we have imposed upon ourselves, — we
forget the temptation which, in a few short hours, will
assail us. But that temptation comes too soon, and the
difficulty which we had strangely overlooked is felt.

TKIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 21 5

"We see the wind boisterous, and are afraid, and begin
to sink." We find ourselves fast yielding to the allure-
ments or the terrors of the world, which we still too fondly
love. Betrayed too by the inclinations of our own deceit-
ful hearts, we find ourselves just about to omit the duty
again, and once more, only once more, to commit the
sin. But we stop short just in time ; we betake ourselves
to prayer ; and a single thought of heaven, perhaps, —
a single ejaculation directed thither, — draws down an
influence from on high, to strengthen, to quicken, to
revive us.

Happy is it for us if we learn from such critical ex-
perience the double lesson of watchfulness and prayer.
Happy is it for us if, thus convinced of our own helpless-
ness, we neither resolve nor act in our own strength.
"He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool."

Let us ponder well the lesson of Peter's faith. Let us
learn, like Paul, to profit by our very infirmities. That
apostle, for our instruction, has thus recorded his experience :
"There was given to me a thorn in the flesh" — some sore
outward trial or grievous inward temptation — "lest I
should be exalted above measure ;" and " I besought the
Lord thrice, that it might depart from me." The answer
was, — not the removal of the thorn, nor any promise as
to its removal, but the mere general assurance, — "My
grace is sufficient for thee : for my strength is made per-
fect in weakness." " Therefore," adds the holy apostle,
" I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities,
in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake : for when
I am weak, then am I strong ;" — weak in the feeling of

216 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER.

my own utter helplessness; strong in the Lord, and in the
power of his might.

"Why sayest thou, 0 Jacob, and speakest, 0 Israel,
My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed
over from my God ? Hast thou not known ? hast thou
not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator
of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary?
there is no searching of his understanding. He giveth
power to the faint ; and to them that have no might he
increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be
weary, and the young men shall utterly fall : but they
that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they
shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and
not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint " (Isaiah
xL 27-31).

MARTHA AND MARY: THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 21 T

XII
MARTHA AND MAKY.

PART FIRST. — Their Common Grief.
" Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." — John xi. 21, 32.

" IT is better to go to the house of mourning than to go
to the house of feasting : for that is the end of all men ;
and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better
than laughter : for by the sadness of the countenance the
heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the
house of mourning : but the heart of fools is in the house
of mirth/' Such is the voice of wisdom (EccL vii. 2-4).
If this is true generally as to the effect which should be
produced by familiarizing the heart with the devout con-
templation of death, and of the grief which death occasions,
it must be especially true when we have Jesus as our
companion.

It was our Lord's custom, in his visits to Jerusalem at
the feasts, to retire in the evening, after the toils and trials
of his daily ministry in the temple, to the quiet village of
Bethany, and the peaceful abode of Lazarus. There he
found the rest and repose which he needed, in the holy
endearments of a congenial family circle ; — the nearest
approach, for him who " had not where to lay his head,"
to the warm heartiness of home.

That house is now the house of mourning. Let us

218 SCEIPTUKE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

visit it in the company of Jesus, and let us observe how
he is received there, and how his presence cheers the
gloom.

The sisters, Martha and Mary, greet him with the same
pathetic salutation, " Lord, if thou hadst been here, my
brother had not died/' And this might seem to indicate
an entire similarity in their sorrow. But if we look a
little closer, we see a striking difference of demeanour,
corresponding to the manifest difference of their characters
generally. And this difference is marked in our Lord's
different treatment of them. In every view, this record
of sisterly affection is an interesting study. We may
learn from it, in the first place, How much sameness there
is in grief; secondly, How much variety; and, lastly, How
much compass there is in the consolation of Christ, as
capable of being adapted to all varieties of grief — to grief
of every mould and of every mood. We speak chiefly
throughout of the grief of true Christians ; for we are
surely warranted in assuming that, notwithstanding their
great contrast in respect of natural temperament, the two
sisters were partakers of the same grace.

At present we advert to the similarity of their common
sorrow, — the sameness of their grief. For it is remark-
able, that two persons so different in their turn of mind,
as we shall afterwards see that these sisters were, — so
apt to view things in different lights, and to be affected
by them with different feelings, — should both utter the
very same words on first meeting the Lord Jesus : " Lord,
if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." It
shows how natural such a reflection is in such a season

THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 219

how entirely the heart, when deeply moved, is the same
in all ; and how much all grief is alike.

The sisters, however otherwise dissimilar, were united
in their fond affection for their departed brother, as well
as in their grateful reliance on that Divine Friend " who
loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus." They had
sat and watched together beside their brother's bed of
sickness. They joined together in " sending unto Jesus,
saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick/' In
their distress they both thought of the same remedy, and
applied to the same Physician. It was a joint petition
that they despatched, and they did not doubt that it
would prevail Together they waited anxiously for his
coming. They reckoned the very earliest moment when
he could arrive ; and as they looked on their brother's
languid eye, and saw him sinking every hour and wast-
ing away, ah ! they thought how soon their benefactor
might appear, and all might yet be well. But moments
and hours rolled on, and no Saviour came. Wearisome
days and nights were appointed to them. Often did
they look out and listen ; often did they fancy that they
heard the expected sound, and the well-known accents of
kindness seemed to fall upon their ears ; but still he
came not. Ah ! what were their anxious thoughts, their
earnest communings, their fond prayers, that life might
be prolonged at least for a little longer, to give one other
chance, one other opportunity, for the interposition of
Him who was mighty to save even from the gates of
death ; and how were their own hearts sickened, as they
whispered to the sick man a faint hope, to which they

220 SCKIPTUKE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MART:

could scarcely themselves any longer cling ! Still the
time rolls slowly on. The last ray of expectation is
extinguished ; the dreaded hour is come ; it is over ;
their brother has fallen asleep, — Lazarus is dead.

And now four days are past and gone since he has
been laid in the silent tomb. The first violence of grief
is giving place to the more calm, but far more bitter
pain of a desolate and dreary sadness, — the prolonged
sense of bereavement which recollection brings along
with it, and which everything around serves to aggra-
vate and imbitter. The house of mourning, after the
'usual temporary excitement, is still. It is the melan-
choly stillness of the calm, darkly brooding over the
wrecks of the recent storm. And amid the real kind-
ness of sympathizing friends, and the formal attentions
of officious strangers, the sisters, as each familiar object
recalls the past, are soothing, or suppressing, as best they
may, those bitter feelings which their own hearts alone
can know, — when suddenly they are told that Jesus is
at hand !

He is come at last, but he is come too late. His
having come at all, however, is a comfort. He is wel-
come as their own and their brother's friend ; he is wel-
come as their Lord. They never doubt his friendship ;
they do not question his willingness, or his power, to do
them good. But still, as they meet him, they cannot
but look back on the few days that are gone ; and as
all their anxieties and alarms, their longing hopes and
cruel disappointments, rush again upon their minds, they
are constrained to give utterance to the crowded emo-

THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 221

tions of their hearts in the irrepressible exclamation of
regret, — " Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had
not died."

It is the voice of nature that speaks in these words,
— the voice of our common nature mingling its vain
reflections with the resignation of sincere and simple
faith.

There is here, first, the feeling that the event might
have been otherwise : " If thou hadst been here, my
brother had not died." ' We know not what has de-
tained thee. Some call of duty may have prevented
thee from coming ; or perhaps our message did not
reach thee in time ; or it may have been some merely
casual circumstance that hindered thee. If this sickness
had happened but a little sooner, when thou wast in
Jerusalem at the feast ; or if we had taken alarm early
enough, so as to send for thee before our brother was
so ill ; or if our messenger had been more expeditious,
and had used more despatch ; or if we had but been
able to lengthen out, by our care, our brother's sickness
for a single week ; — had we not been so unfortunate
in the occurrence of this evil just when it did occur ;
or had we, when it occurred, used more diligence, and
taken better precautions ; — then thou mightest have
been here, and " if thou hadst been here, our brother had
not died/"

Is it not thus that the heart speaks under every try-
ing dispensation? Is it not thus that an excited ima-
gination whispers to the forlorn soul? Who has ever

222 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

met with any affliction — who has ever lost any beloved
brother or dear friend — without cherishing some such
reflection as this ? ' If such or such a measure had been
adopted ; if such or such an accident had not hap-
pened ; if it had not been for this unaccountable over-
sight, or that unforeseen and unavoidable mischance ; so
grievous a calamity would not have befallen me, — my
brother would not have died'

Alas! alas! the reflection, however natural, is only
a sinful and sad delusion, — proceeding upon a very
limited view of the power and the providence of God
our Saviour. How did these sisters know that, if Jesus
had been there, their brother would not have died?
How could they tell whether he might not have ends to
serve, which would have required that, even though he
had been there, he must have permitted then* brother to
die? And were they not aware that, though he was
not there, yet, if he had so chosen and so ordered it,
their brother would not have died? Had they not
heard of his being able, at the distance of many a long
mile, to effect an immediate and complete cure of the
most deadly disease? Did they not believe that he had
but to speak, and it would be done ; he had but to say
the word, and, however far off he was, his friend and
their brother would be healed? Ah! they had forgotten
who it was to whom they made this most touching and
pathetic appeal ; — that he was one who, though not
actually present, could have restored their brother if it
had been consistent with his wise and holy will ; and
that he was also one who, even if he had been present,

THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 223

might have seen fit, for the best reasons, to suffer their
brother to die.

And are not these the very truths concerning the Lord
Jesus Christ which you in your distress are tempted to
forget, when you dwell so much on secondary circum-
stances and causes^ instead of at once and immediately
recognising his will as supreme ? You are overtaken by
misfortune ; you are overwhelmed in the depths of sor-
row. You ascribe your suffering to what seems to be its
direct occasion ; — whether it be your own neglect of some
precaution which you might have taken, had you thought
of it in time ; or the fault of others, with whose skill
or diligence your dearest hopes were inseparably con-
nected ; or something perhaps, in the course of events,
over which neither you nor they could have any control
You fix upon the very date, the very scene, when and
where your brother's doom seems to have been sealed.
And this is your train of thought : ' If we had but sus-
pected what was about to be the issue, or if the help
which we now see would have been available had then
been within our reach ; if we had been warned in time,
or had taken the warning, or had been able to employ
the right means of escape ; we might not now have been
left disconsolate ; our beloved one might still have been
spared to cheer us with his smiles, and share with us all
our cares, — our brother might not have died.'

So you are apt to think and feel. But however
natural the reflection, is it not in reality the very folly of
unbelief, — the dream of a soul forgetting that the Lord
reigneth ? What ! is it come to this, that you conceive

224? SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

of Him as limited by events which he himself ordains, —
as the slave of his own laws ? You think that if a cer-
tain obstacle had not come in to prevent relief, the
calamity which you bewail might not have happened
But, notwithstanding that obstacle, might he not, if he
had seen fit, have found means to avert the calamity?
And are you sure that, even if the obstacle had been re-
moved, he might not have seen fit still to let the calamity
come ? " If thou hadst been here," say the mourning sis-
ters, "our brother had not died." 'Nay/ he might have
answered, ' I could have been here if it had seemed good
to me ; and, though I was not here, I might have kept
your brother alive ; and, though I had been here, I
might, in very love to him and to you, have allowed your
brother to die/

Look, ye afflicted ones, beyond second causes, to Him
who is the first cause of all things ! Believe and be
sure that the circumstances which you regret as the
occasion of your misfortune, are but the appointed means
of bringing about what he determines. If evil comes
upon you, if your brother dies, it is not because this or
that accident prevented relief; it is not because your
Lord and Saviour was not with you in sufficient time —
but because it was his will. Be still, and know that he
is God!

But further, secondly, there may be in this address of
the sisters somewhat of the feeling, that the event not
only might, but should have been otherwise. There is at
least an intimation of their having expected that the

THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 225

event would have been otherwise : " If thou hadst been
here, our brother had not died/'

' And why wert thou not here ? We sent to thee, —
we sent a special message, — a special prayer, — and surely
thou mightest have been persuaded to come. Ah ! why
didst thou linger for two whole days after tidings of our
threatened loss reached thee ? Why didst thou not make
haste to help us ? We could not believe that thou wouldest
have treated us thus. Thou wast not unmindful of us
before. Thou didst regard us as thy friends. Thou didst
bless our house with thy presence ; making it thy resting-
place, thy home. Thou didst choose us before thine own
kinsmen. Thou didst select our brother as the object of
thine especial affection. And we thought it would have
been enough to touch thy heart simply to send to thee,
saying, " He whom thou lovest is sick/' We thought thou
hadst but to hear of his illness to hasten at once to his
relief. True, we had no right to dictate to thee, and
now we have no right to complain. But we cannot help
feeling that " if thou hadst been here our brother had not
died;" and that surely thou mightest have been here.
It was not so very great a favour that was asked of thee ;
and was he not worthy for whom thou shouldest do this ?
He loved thee, — he trusted in thee ; and thou mightest
have come, if not to preserve his life, at least to soothe
and satisfy his dying hours. He looked for thee, and
thou didst not appear. To the very last he waited for
thee, and thou didst hide thyself. He missed thee, and
he was not comforted/

Such are the instinctive complaints of. nature in a

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226 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

season of sore trial, of bitter bereavement. Thus the
wounded soul rises against the stroke that pierces it, and
turns round upon the hand that smites it. It is very
hard for flesh and blood to believe, in regard to any
crushing load of woe, that it is God who directly and
immediately ordains it. It is far harder to believe, that
in ordaining it he does not do wrong. Simply to be still,
and know that he is God, is no easy exercise of resigna-
tion. To be sure that what he does is right, that all he
does is done well, is even more difficult still.

You fancy that, if He had really been here, it would
have happened otherwise, — your brother would not have
died. And you feel as if you had had some right to
expect that he should have been here, — that it should
have happened otherwise, — that your brother should not
have died. And you can give, perhaps, many reasons.
You can point out many ends which might have been
served had your brother been spared, — how faithful and
successful he might have been, — how noble a course he
might have run. He was just prepared for entering into
active life ; he was just newly fitted for the service of
God in the world ; and it does seem strange and un-
accountable, that at the very time when his life seemed
to have become most valuable, when his character was
ripened for increased usefulness, and when the mere
word of the great Physician would have brought him
back from the gates of death, he should yet have been
suffered to die.

Ah ! but remember that in all this the Lord may have
many purposes in view with which you may be unac-

THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 227

quainted, which indeed you could not as yet comprehend.
Only wait patiently for a little, and you will see that
"this sickness is not" really "unto death, but for the
glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified
thereby " (ver. 4). ' Would that thou hadst been here !
— thou surely mightest have been here ! ' is the natural
language of the mourner to his Lord. Nay, says « the
Lord himself to his own disciples, " I am glad for your
sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe "
(ver. 1 5). A hard saying this, — who can always hear
it? But consider who it is that speaks. It is your
friend, your Saviour. He might have been here, and
might have taken care that your brother should not die.
And may you not be sure that, if it had been for his
glory, and for your good, he would have been here, and
would have taken care that your brother should not die ?
He might have ordered this matter otherwise, you say ;
and you almost think that he ought to have ordered it
otherwise. But may you not believe that, had it been
right and good, he would have done so ; and that, if he
has not, it must be for the best of reasons ? What these
may be you cannot tell. He may have need of your
brother's services elsewhere. He may intend to make
his death the occasion of showing forth his glory, and
blessing your soul. Only be patient, and hope unto the
end. What he doeth you may not know now, but you
shall know hereafter. Meantime, as you are tempted to
fancy that he might have interfered — nay, that he should
have interfered — to prevent the calamity under which
you suffer, may not that very feeling, on second thoughts,

228 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

suggest the conviction, that if he has not so interfered, it
must be because he intends to make to you some gracious
discovery of himself, and to confer upon you some special
benefit? Be not hasty, then, to judge, but rest in the
assurance that all things shall work together for good
to them that love God. And though he may seem to
stand aloof when you would most desire, and when you
most need, his interposition, yet when he does come, be
sure that you receive him gladly — as did the sorrowing
sisters.

For, lastly, there is apparent in the address of the
sisters a sincere, though melancholy, satisfaction in meet-
ing with Jesus when he comes. He has not come so
soon as they expected; he has not come at the very time,
in the very way, for the very purpose, that they could
have wished: still, when he does come, at whatsoever
time, and for whatsoever purpose, he is welcome. He is
come too late to do them that particular favour which
they solicited: still he is come for good, and gratefully
do they receive him. True, they say, as if almost in
complaint, 'Lord, if thou hadst been here sooner, our
brother had not died. But thou art here now; and it
is enough. Our brother, indeed, is dead, — and, if it had
been possible, we would have had it otherwise. We ex-
pected that thou wouldest have come; we wondered that
thou didst not come; — for a time, perhaps, we entertained
some doubtful and hard thoughts of thee, as if surely thou
mightest have come. But now that thou hast come, we
are satisfied. We are sure that had it been possible,

THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 229

consistently with the high ends of thy ministry, and con-
sistently with our own real interest, thou wouldest have
been here. We see that thou lovest and carest for us;
and though thou didst not at once grant our request pre-
cisely as we desired, yet not the less on that account do
we take thy visit kindly. Thou art still our best friend,
our gracious Lord. " We know that even now, whatso-
ever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee." At
thy feet we will still lie down. That thou hast come at
all, at our solicitation, is great condescension; that thou
hast come in such an hour of trouble, is a peculiarly sea-
sonable act of friendship/

Happy will it be for you who mourn, if in like cir-
cumstances you are enabled to feel as these sisters felt,
and to meet your Saviour's gracious advances as they
did. In the hour of blighted prospects and disappointed
hopes, when the evil which you deprecated has befallen
you, you may think that consolation comes too late.
Like Kachel, you may weep, and refuse to be comforted;
like Jonah, when your gourd withers, you may almost be
tempted to say that you do well to be angry. You may
turn away when your Saviour draws near; you may sit
disconsolate when he calls. 'If he had come for the
purpose of averting the calamity, — if he had been here
sooner, and had interposed his power to help, — it had
been well, for then my brother had not died. But the
calamity has overtaken me, — my brother is dead; and
what avails it that He is here now?'

Beware of all such impatience, such natural irritability
of grief. Reject not the Saviour's visit of sympathy

230 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

now, because he did not come to you exactly as you in
your ignorance would have had him to come, and did
not do for you exactly what you would have had him
to do. It is enough that he is with you now, to speak
comfortably to you, to bind up your broken heart, to fill
the aching void in your affections, and be to you instead
of all that you have lost. True, if he had been here
before, your brother might not have died, and your
brother, alas! is dead. But he is here now, — he who is
better than a thousand brothers, — he who hath the
words of eternal life, — he who can speak a word in
.season to the weary soul, and who, when flesh and heart
faint, will be the strength of your heart and your por-
tion for ever.

Such might be the feelings common to the two sisters,
— such are the feelings of nature mingled with grace
common to all sanctified grief, — as indicated in the af-
fecting address, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother
had not died/'

DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. 231
XIII.

MARTHA AND MARY.

PART SECOND. — Their differed kinds of Grief, and the Lord's different
ways of dealing with them.

" Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him :
but Mary sat still in the house. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if

thou hadst been here, my brother had not died Then when Mary

was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying
unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." — JOHN
xi. 20, 21, 32.

THE simple and pathetic exclamation that bursts from
the lips of the two bereaved sisters, as they separately
meet with Jesus, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my
brother had not died/' cannot but find an echo in every
breast that has ever mourned over a, loss like theirs.
The feeling which it expresses is so natural, that we may
almost call it the very instinct of grief to reflect on what
has happened, with a vague idea of its having been pos-
sible somehow to avert it. Nor is the expression of the
feeling always sinful, if it be to God himself that we ex-
press it. He would have us, indeed, to open our minds
and hearts, without reserve, to him; for it is better that
our complaint should be poured into his ear, than that
it should be pent up in our own bosoms; and the relief
which the utterance of it affords may lead to calmer and
holier thoughts. Thus, in the present instance, the
mourners, amid their very upbraiding of Jesus, as some
might count it, were warm and cordial in the welcome

232 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MART:

which they gave him. They spoke the language common
to all deep and recent grief when they bewailed the un-
toward accident but for which, as they imagined, the
event might have been ordered otherwise. But at the
same time they gave evidence of their being under the
influence of genuine faith in Jesus, and tender love to
him, when they hailed his visit so affectionately as they
did, and accepted with meek resignation his seasonable
fellowship and sympathy.

Thus far we trace in their conduct the working of a
common grief.

„ But the sisters differed in their sorrow, as they did
generally in the leading features of their characters, and
their manner of thinking and acting in the ordinary
affairs of life. They were persons of very different tem-
pers and dispositions; and this difference is uniformly
and strikingly brought out in their treatment of the
Lord Jesus. Both looked up to him with reverence;
both regarded him with full confidence and tender affec-
tion; and both were equally earnest and eager in testify-
ing their esteem and love: but each in doing so followed
the bent of her own peculiar turn of mind.

Martha was distinguished by a busy, if not bustling
activity in the despatch of affairs. She seems to have
possessed great quickness, alertness, and energy, together
with a certain practical ability and good sense, qualify-
ing her both for taking a lead herself and for giving an
impulse to others. She was on this account well fitted
for going through with any work to be done, and she
was always awake to the common calls and the common

DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. 233

cares of the ordinary domestic routine of life. Mary,
again, was evidently characterized by more depth of
thought, more devotedness and sensibility of feeling.
She was more easily engrossed in any affecting scene, or
any spiritual subject; more alive at any time to one
single profound impression, and apt to be abstracted
from other concerns.

Hence, as we find it stated on a former occasion when
our Lord was received in their house, while " Mary sat
at his feet and heard his word," " Martha was cumbered
with much serving/' She was assiduous, and even offi-
cious, in her hospitable anxiety to provide for the accom-
modation of her guest ; and if Jesus had come " to be
ministered unto," he would have been best pleased with
Martha's attention to all his wants. But as he came,
" not to be ministered unto, but to minister," he found
greater delight in her sister Mary, who, with the meek-
ness of a disciple, and the earnestness of a spiritually
awakened soul, listened to the gracious words which pro-
ceeded out of his mouth. Accordingly, when " Martha
said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left
me to serve alone? bid her therefore that she help me,"

— " Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha,
thou art careful and troubled about many things: but
one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good
part, which shall not be taken away from her" (Luke x.

40-42). Thus the sisters showed their respective char-
acters as they waited upon the Divine Visitor whom it
was their privilege to entertain in their house as a highly
honoured guest and a much valued friend.

234 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

And as their ways of testifying regard to the Lord
Jesus in prosperity differed, so also did their respective
modes of demeanour towards him in adversity.

Martha was evidently the first to receive information
of his approach (Johnxi. 20), either because to her, as the
mistress of the house, the message was brought, or be-
cause, going about the house in her usual manner, she
was in the way of hearing intelligence. She went out
in haste, impatient to meet the Lord, and to render to
him the offices of courtesy and respect. She is ready to
be up and doing; she can turn at once from the con-
,versation in which her friends from Jerusalem have been
seeking to interest her, and disengage her mind for active
exertion. Mary, again, is more absorbed in her grief;
her sorrow is of a deeper and more desponding character ;
for while " Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was
coming, went and met him, Mary sat still in the house"
(ver. 20). This more absorbing intensity of Mary's
grief, " the Jews who were with her in the house, and
comforted her/' seem to have remarked, when they said
of her, as they saw her at last rise hastily and go out,
" She goeth unto the grave to weep there " (ver. 31).
They had not said this of Martha when she went forth.
She might be bent on other errands. Mary could go —
only to weep. And at first her feelings so overpower
her as to prevent her from going at all. The sudden
arrival of her brother's friend is a shock too great for
her; it tears the wound open afresh, and recalls bitter
thoughts. She is plunged by the tidings into a fresh
burst of sorrow, and can only " sit still in the house."

DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. 235

Thus, in different circumstances, the same natural tem-
per may be either an advantage or a snare. Martha was
never so much occupied in the emotion of one scene or
subject as not to be on the alert and ready for the call to
another. This was a disadvantage to her, when she was
so hurried that she could' not withdraw herself from
household cares to wait upon the word of life. It is an
advantage to her now, that she can, with comparative
ease, shake off her depression, and hasten of her own
accord to meet her Lord. The same profound feeling,
again, which made Mary the more attentive listener be-
fore, makes her the more helpless sufferer now; and
disposes her almost to nurse her grief, until Jesus, her
best comforter, sends specially and emphatically to rouse
her. Nor is it an insignificant circumstance, that it is
the ever-active Martha who carries to her more downcast
sister the awakening message ; — so ought sisters in Christ
to minister to one another, and so may the very differ-
ence of their characters make them mutually the more
helpful to one another : " She went her way, and called
Mary her sister secretly, saying, The Master is come, and
calleth for thee" (ver. 28).

When the two sisters meet Jesus, the difference between
them is equally characteristic.

Martha's grief is not so overwhelming as to prevent
her utterance. She is calm, and cool, and collected
enough to enter into argument. She can give expression
to her convictions and her hopes. She can tell that her
faith is not shaken even by so severe a disappointment
Having hinted what might seem to imply a doubt, —

236 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

" Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not
died" (ver. 21), — she is in haste to explain her meaning,
and to give assurance of her undiminished confidence :
" But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask
of God, God will give it thee" (ver. 22). And then, as
the conversation goes on, she is sufficiently self-possessed
to listen to a short argument on the resurrection, and to
reason with the Lord upon the subject. She invites and
welcomes religious discourse, and makes a formal declara-
tion of her faith in Jesus as the author of eternal life:
" Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son
of God, which should come into the world" (ver. 23-27).

Not so her sister Mary. She indeed, when at last
she is emboldened by her Master's kind message, goes
forth to meet him; and her reverence, her devotion, her
faith, are not less than those of Martha. But her heart
is too full for many words. Her emotions, when she sees
the Lord, she cannot utter; the passion of her soul she
cannot command, — she can but cast herself down, weep-
ing, before him, and cry, " Lord, if thou hadst been here,
my brother had not died." She adds not a word moi
— she lies prostrate and silent at his feet (ver. 3 2).

Shall we notice one other distinctive mark of chai
ter, exquisitely delicate and true to nature ? Jesus,
having asked where Lazarus had been laid, is conducted
to the tomb, which was " a cave, with a stone upon it"
He gives orders to take away the stone : " Martha, the
sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by
this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days'
(ver. 39). It is not Mary to whom it occurs to offer

DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. 237

this objection; she is silent still, in the unutterable agony
of her grief, and the deep reverence of her soul before the
Lord. But Martha's wonted officiousness makes her for-
ward, when it might have been more becoming to be
" dumb," and to " stand in awe." And the answer of
Jesus might well be felt by her partly as a mild reproof:
" Said I not unto thee, that, if thou wouldest believe, thou
shouldest see the glory of God?" (ver. 40.)

Such are the different aspects which sorrow wears in
minds of different stamps, and of different degrees of
strength and of sensibility. But if it be the sorrow of a
godly heart, it finds in Jesus one who can with the most
perfect tenderness and truth adapt his sympathy and con-
solation to its peculiar character, whatever that may be.
It is very instructive accordingly, in this view, to observe
the Lord's demeanour towards the two sisters, in his first
meeting with them on this occasion, and to see how it
was exactly suited to their respective tempers, and their
different kinds of grief.

Martha's distress was of such a nature that it admitted
of discussion and discourse. She was disposed to converse,
and to find relief in conversation. Jesus accordingly
adapted his treatment to her case. He spoke to her,
and led her to speak to him. He talked with her on the
subject most interesting and most seasonable — on the
resurrection of the body and the life of the soul. Martha
had declared her unshaken trust in him as still having
power to obtain from God all that he might ask (ver. 22).
And a wild idea, perhaps, crossed her mind, that it might

238 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

not even yet be too late — that the evil might, even now,
be repaired. If so, it was but the fancy of a moment —
the dreamy notion that sometimes haunts the desolate
breast, when it strives in vain to realize the loss which it
has sustained. A single sad thought brings the recollec-
tion, to which, as we have seen, in her characteristic spirit
of attention to such details, she afterwards adverts, that
her brother has been now four days in the tomb, and
corruption must be doing its horrid work upon his
body. When, therefore, she hears her Lord's promise,
" Thy brother shall rise again," she applies it to his share
in the general resurrection : " I know that he shall rise
again in the resurrection at the last day" (ver. 23, 24).
Jesus is anxious to explain himself more fully. He speaks
not of a resurrection merely, but of a resurrection in Him-
self ; — not of life only, but of life in Himself : " I am the
resurrection, and the life : he that believeth in me, though
he were dead, yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth
and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this ? "
(ver. 25, 26).

For in fact this is the only true comfort in reference
to the future state. He is the only true comforter who
can speak, not merely of the immortality of the soul, and
of the resurrection of the body, but of Himself as the life
of the immortal soul and the quickener of tjie risen body,
— the first-begotten from the dead — the first-fruits of
them that sleep. ' Ah, what consolation is it that thy
brother lives and shall rise again, — that te lives now iu
the spirit, and that he shall rise again in the body ? The
consolation which I give is more effectual and complete

DIFFEEENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. 239

by far. He lives in ME. He shall rise with ME. And
what is the life which I continue, even after death, to
sustain ? It is the very life which I impart now, — life
before God, — life in God, — the life of a soul pardoned,
justified, reconciled to God, renewed after the image of
God, sanctified and made meet for the fellowship of God
for ever. And what is the resurrection which I give ?
Is it not a resurrection to glory — when these vile bodies
shall be changed and fashioned like unto my glorious body?
It is my own life that I impart to the believer now, and
continue to him without interruption beyond the grave :
it is of my own resurrection that I am to make him a
partaker when I come again/

These, or such as these, are the only words which,
spoken by one who has authority, can shed light on the
dark tomb of a lost and buried brother. — or on the darker
sorrow of a surviving sister's heart. So the apostle felt
when he said, " I would not have you to be ignorant,
brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye
sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if
we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them
also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him" (1
Thess. iv. 13, 14).

And what though Martha may not as yet understand
fully all that is involved in the assurance, "I am the
resurrection, and the life?" — she is relieved by having
laid on her Divine Friend the burden of her soul, and
imparted her sorrows and her hopes to one who can so
graciously commune with her concerning the glorious end
and issue of them all. It is therefore with somewhat of

240 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

a lightened heart that she declares her entire acquiescence
in his power, and her perfect trust in his goodness — adopt-
ing the usual form of confession by which the disciples
were wont to own their Master as the Messiah, "the
Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world"
(John xi. 27).

When Mary, on the other hand, draws near in the
anguish of silent woe, Jesus is differently affected, and
his sympathy is shown in a different way. He is much
more profoundly moved. He does not reply to her in
words, for her own words were few. Sorrow has choked
her utterance, and overmastered her soul. But the sight
of one so dear to him, lying in such helpless anguish at
his feet, is an appeal to him far stronger than any sup-
plication. And his own responsive sigh is an answer
more comforting than any promise. " "When Jesus there-
fore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which
came with her/' for it was a melting scene, " he groaned
in spirit, and was troubled." And when he had asked
of the bystanders, " Where have ye laid him ?" and received
the reply, "Come and see," — like Joseph, he could not
refrain himself — "Jesus wept" (ver. 33-35).

0 most blessed mourner, with whose tears thy Saviour
mingles his own ! 0 sympathy most unparalleled ! To
each of the two stricken and afflicted ones the Lord
addressed the very consolation that was most congenial.
To Martha he gave exceeding great and precious assur-
ances, in words such as never man spake. To Mary he
communicated the groanings of his spirit, in
more expressive to the heart than any spoken

DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. 241

could be. With Martha, Jesus discoursed and reasoned.
With Mary, " Jesus wept/'

What a friend is this ! what a brother ! yea, and far
more than a brother ! And how confidently may you
come to him, ye Christian mourners, in every season of
trial ! For surely he will give you the very cordial,
the very refreshment, of which you stand in need. He
is a patient hearer if you have anything to say to him ;
and he will speak to you as you are able to bear it. Your
complaints, your regrets, your expostulations, your very
remonstrances and upbraidings, may all be expressed to
him. He will pity — He will comfort. His Holy Spirit
will bring to your remembrance what Christ has said
suitable to your case. He will recall to you the Saviour's
gracious words of eternal life, and suggest to you con-
siderations fitted to dissipate your gloom, and put a new
song in your mouth. And even if you cannot collect
your thoughts, and order your words aright, — if you are
" dumb with silence when your sorrow is stirred," and as
" you muse your heart is hot within you, — oh remember,
that with these very " groanings which cannot be uttered
the Spirit maketh intercession for you ! " And they are
not hid from Him who, when he saw Mary weeping,
groaned, and was troubled, and wept. There is indeed
enough of all varied consolation in that blessed book,
which all throughout testifies of Jesus ! For the sorrow
that seeks vent in words, and desires also to be soothed
by words, — there is the Saviour's open ear — there are the
Saviour's lips into which grace was poured. For the grief
that is dumb and silent, — there are the Saviour's tears.
Q

2-i2 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARTHA AND MARY:

We have endeavoured to trace the lineaments of two
very different characters. We have seen how they ap-
peared in the ordinary scenes of life, and how they ma-
nifested themselves in the chamber of sickness — in the
house of mourning. On their comparative excellences
and defects respectively we pronounce no judgment, fur-
ther than what may be gathered incidentally from the
narrative as the judgment of the Lord himself. But we
may be allowed to say, in conclusion, of Mary's fervency
of spirit as compared with Martha's diligence in business
—This ye ought to cherish, but not to leave the other
* undone. There is a tendency to regard religion as con-
sisting chiefly in services rendered to the Lord Jesus, and
attention and observance paid to him, — in ministering
busily, if not to his person, yet to his cause and the
affairs of his kingdom. And there is a danger, in days
especially when much is to be done, of substituting a
certain bustling activity, and liberality, and zeal in the
work of the Lord, for deep and devoted piety in waiting
upon his word. Never forget, then, that Mary chose the
better part. What Jesus chiefly desires is to see you
rather sitting at his feet, than cumbered about much
serving, — rather that you should ask and receive much
grace from him, than that you should make a merit of
rendering much service to him. But beware of supposing
that there is any inconsistency or incompatibility between
these two habits of mind. The tempers of the two
sisters may be united and blended. Be it your study and
l>r;iyer that they may be so in you. Be as fervent in
spirit as Mary was, — as diligent in business as Martha

DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. 243

was. Choose the privilege of waiting upon the word of
the Lord, — yet, neglect not the work of the Lord. Seize
every opportunity, answer every call, of usefulness, —
while, at the same time, you cultivate the holy taste for
meditative retirement, divine fellowship, and heavenly
rest ; — even as He did who " went about doing good,"
and of whom also it is written, that he " spent the whole
night in prayer to God." Then may you entertain the
confident hope, that in seasons of affliction yours will be
the blessedness of uniting both the portions of consolation
which the sisters separately received. Jesus will speak
to you as he did to Martha, — Jesus will weep with you
as he did with Mary.

244 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

XIV.

THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN.

PART FIEST.

" A FRIEND loveth at all times, and a brother is born for
adversity. — A man that hath" (or would have) "friends
must show himself friendly ; and there is a friend that
sticketh closer than a brother. — Faithful are the wounds
of a friend. — Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart ;
so doth the sweetness of a man's friend by hearty counsel.
— Iron sharpeneth iron ; so a man sharpeneth the coun-
tenance of his friend" (Prov. xvii. 17 ; xviii. 24 ; xxvii.
6, 9, 17).

Such are the maxims of inspired wisdom concerning
friendship ; and they must surely impress us with the
conviction of its being, if not a necessary duty, at least
privilege, whose value can scarcely be over-estimated.
The conditions, also, of a pleasant and profitable friend-
ship, are pointedly indicated in these proverbs. To love
at all times, and especially in adversity ; to give opei
manifestations of a friendly spirit, and abound in al
friendly offices ; to stick close — even closer than a brother
to be faithful in inflicting necessary wounds ; to refresl
with hearty counsel as with the fragrance of a grateJ
perfume ; and to stimulate and sharpen the whole innei
man by the collision of mind with mind and heart with

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 245

heart, as the eye is kindled into brightness by the qnick
sympathy of a congenial glance ; — such, according to the
inspired standard, are the qualities of a genuine friend.
Love, constant, active, and close ; honest in reproof, kind
and cordial in advice, keen and spirit-stirring in converse ;
— such is the essence of scriptural friendship. For an
example of it, we have Jonathan's love to David, " won-
derful, and passing the love of women/' And a greater
than David — David's Son and Lord — "loved Martha,
and her sister, and Lazarus ;" and, as has been well ob-
served, from among the twelve whom he ordained to be
apostles, chose out one, — " the disciple whom Jesus
loved."*

That disciple was surely formed for the cultivation of
friendship, — for loving and being loved. His writings
breathe throughout a spirit prone to friendship ; and, if

* It may not be out of place to quote in full the passage in Bos well's " Life
of Johnson" here referred to. It is a conversation with a Quaker lady, about
Soame Jenyns' book on the Internal Evidence of Christianity: "BoswELL:
' You should like his book, Mrs. Knowles, as it maintains, as you Friends do,
that courage is not a Christian virtue.' MRS. KNOWLES: 'Yes, indeed, I like
him there ; but I cannot agree with him that friendship is not a Christian vir-
tue.' JOHNSON : * Why, madam, strictly speaking, he is right. All friendship
is preferring the interest of a friend to the neglect, or perhaps against the interest,
of others; so that an old Greek said, "He that has friends has no friend."
Now Christianity recommends universal benevolence, — to consider all men as our
brethren ; which is contrary to the virtue of friendship, as described by the an-
cient philosophers. Surely, madam, your sect must approve of this; for you
call all men friends.' MRS. KNOWLES: ' We are commanded to do good to all
men, "but especially to them who are of the household of faith." ' JOHNSON:
'Well, madam, the household of faith is wide enough.' MRS. KNOWLES: 'But,
doctor, our Saviour had twelve apostles, yet there was one whom he loved. John
was called "The disciple whom Jesus loved." ' JOHNSON (with eyes sparkling
benignantly) : ' Very well indeed, madam. You have said very well.' BOSWELL:
' A fine application. Pray, sir, had you, ever thought of it1?' JOHNSON: ' I had
not, sir.'"— Vol. iv. pp. 147, 148.

246 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

we may believe the traditions of history, he was wont to
have upon his lips, in his extreme old age, the one pre-
cept,— " Little children, love one another/' The relation
between him and his Divine Master is full of an interest
almost too sacred to be rudely handled. But we seem
to have a reflection of that relation in his intimacy with
his brother apostle, Peter. The indications of that inti-
macy, slight and incidental as they appear to be, suggest
a study full of profit. The two disciples were men of
very different temperaments ; and their ages, also, differed
much. Peter was probably a man comparatively ad-
vanced in life when our Lord's ministry began ; while
John did not reach the limits of the human term of
existence here until nearly half a century had rolled on
after that ministry was closed. But they were " a pair
of friends, though" one " was young/' and the other
might be, if not actually " seventy-three/' yet verging
on the borders of his seventh decade.* And the circum-
stances which originated and matured their friendship
may be traced, without much difficulty or doubt, in the
evangelical histories.

We shall notice, at present, the successive stages which,
as we think, may be observed in the rise and progress of
this Christian and apostolic friendship ; reserving for sepa-
rate illustration those more affecting instances of it that
occurred towards the close of the Lord's ministry on earth.

The earliest hint of any connection between Peter and

* " A pair of friends, though I was young,

And Matthew seventy-three."— WORDSWORTH.

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 247

John, is to be found on the occasion of their first intro-
duction to Jesus.

The two apostles are brought before us together, as
fellow-disciples of the Baptist, on the day when he per-
sonally and publicly identified Jesus of Nazareth as the
Messiah, the Saviour, whom he had been previously an-
nouncing as about to come : " Again the next day after
John stood, and two of his disciples ; and looking upon
Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God ! "
(John i. 35, 36.) Of the two disciples here referred
to as in attendance on the Baptist, one was Andrew,
Simon Peter's brother (ver. 40); the other was the Evan-
gelist and Apostle John himself. Such, at least, is a very
general impression among interpreters, who gather from
John's ordinary manner of writing in his Gospel — in
which, whenever he points to himself, he is careful to
write without intruding his own name — that it was he
who was Andrew's companion on this occasion. Andrew's
first impulse is to find his own brother Simon, and an-
nounce to him with ' eager joy the discovery they have
made : " We have found the Messias, which is, being
interpreted, the Christ" (ver. 41).

And here it would almost seem that we might detect
the old man's complacency — for John wrote his Gospel
in extreme old age — as, looking back along the line of
half a century of toil and woe, he recalls that scene
of his early youth, and with fond and affectionate
pride records — what he alone notices — the very marked
reception which he saw Jesus give to his friend, when
they were as yet both strangers to him. For it is John

248 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

who tells us, that when Andrew introduced his brother
to Jesus, the Lord said, " Thou art Simon the son of
Jona : thou shalt be called Cephas, which is, by interpre-
tation, A stone/' It is John who tells this ; and as we
read, we feel glad that, of all the evangelists, it is John
who tells it.

Passing the marriage at Cana in Galilee, at which
some have imagined that they could recognise John in
the bridegroom, and possibly Peter also in the ruler of
the feast, we find them together beside the Lake of Galilee,
- plying their hereditary trade as fishers, and called hence-
forth to be fishers of men, (Luke v.)

The two ships were in company, — Peter, the owner of
the one, and Zebedee, the father of John, the master of
the other, being probably associates in business as well
as private friends. For the families seem to have been
neighbourly and intimate ; Peter and his brother Andrew,
on the one hand — James and John, with their father
Zebedee, on the other. They were accustomed to go up
to the feasts at Jerusalem together. When there, they
frequented the ministry of the Baptist together in the
wilderness of Judea. They thus became acquainted with
Jesus together; and though some time elapsed between
their first making his acquaintance, and their being sum-
moned to follow him as his disciples, — a year, as most
reckon, during which they carried on their ordinary occu-
pations,— yet doubtless, all the while, they had much
communing together respecting the extraordinary person

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 249

to whom the Baptist had introduced them as the Messiah.
And as they continued to hear of him, and even frequent-
ly to meet with him, they had their expectations of some
great and glorious discovery, about to break upon the
world, wound up to the highest pitch.

Thus their intimacy must have become closer ; the
sons of Jonas — Peter and Andrew — being much in
company, both for work and conversation, with their
more youthful associates, the sons of Zebedee. And in
particular, notwithstanding a very considerable disparity
of years, Peter, as it would appear, was contracting an
ardent friendship for John, which John as ardently re-
turned.

Of the other brothers — Andrew, Peter's brother, and
James, the brother of John — but little comparatively is
known. That they were highly esteemed by their col-
leagues, and highly honoured — James especially — by
their Master, sufficiently appears from what afterwards
occurred in the course of their attendance upon Jesus.
But already we have discovered something like an indi-
cation of the strong and special tie that knit Peter and
John in one. And reflecting back some of the light of
subsequent and more tender disclosures, on that early
transaction of the miraculous draught of fishes, we seem
to see John gazing, with deepest emotion, on the Being
at whose knees Simon Peter, with characteristic prompt-
ness, has fallen down, and entering with fullest sympathy
into the impetuous exclamation, " Depart from me, for I
am a sinful man, 0 Lord" (Luke v. 8), — the same John,

250 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

who himself long, very long afterwards, in the lonely Isle
of Patmos, when he saw the same Lord in his risen glory,
" fell at his feet as dead" (Rev. i. 17).

Thus summoned together to forsake all and follow
Jesus, they were thereafter never separate. During the
whole of our Lord's ministry he kept these two disciples
very near his person — nearer, as we may fairly gather
from the narrative, than all the rest of his chosen fol-
lowers. It is always Peter and John whom we find
using the greatest freedom in speaking to him. And if
Jesus did draw John closer to his bosom, as the disciple
whom he loved, it was for Simon Peter that, with a spe-
cial interest in his most interesting character, his Master
prayed, that in the critical hour of Satan's sifting trial
his faith might not fail (Luke xxii. 32). They were col-
leagues, not only in the apostleship or company of the
twelve, who were with Jesus in his public labours, but
in that more exclusive triumvirate, or band of three,
whom he made his standing, select, and triple staff of
witnesses to the more private incidents of his mediatorial
work. Following out the maxim of Moses, " that at the
mouth of two or three witnesses everything is to be estab-
lished," the Lord invested with a peculiar character, for
that end, Peter and the sons of Zebedee; that such par-
ticulars of his ministry as, for good reasons, he wished
to have concealed during his life-time, might, after his
death, be attested by a competent number of credible
men, not limited to the very lowest amount of testimony
barely allowed by law, yet not extended beyond what

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 251

would be fully acknowledged on all hands to be suffi-
cient.

Hence the two friends, with James, who was to them
both as a common brother, were thrown much together.
More particularly, not to speak at present of the raising
of Jairus' daughter, they were the only persons present
on the mount of the transfiguration and in the garden of
the agony.

And oh! what a depth of joint insight into all that is
glorious in heaven, and all that is terrible in hell, must
these men ever after have had, to make them one, — one
in a sense unknown to common friendship, — one as the
thrilling ecstasy of heaven's love, and the shuddering
horror of hell's unutterable hatred, may be imagined to
make souls one. To have stood together within that
glorious cloud which overshadowed them on the mount,
-to have sunk together under the overwhelming drowsi-
ness with which the heavy and mysterious sorrow of that
fatal night in the garden seemed to have charged and
loaded the very air; — what gorgeous day-dreams of
youth, shared together — what dark and dreary cup of
woe, drained together, — ever had such power to be a bond
of friendship as these experiences ?

Especially in after years, when the real meaning of
these transactions came to be better known to themselves,
and when they were left alone, — James, the brother of
John, having been slain with the sword (Acts xii. 2), —
with what bursting fulness of heart may we conceive of
Peter dwelling on that glorious scene, of which none now
on earth, but only himself and John, can speak! " For

252 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we
made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord
Jesus Christ, but were eye-witnesses of his majesty. For
he received from God the Father honour and glory, when
there came such a voice to him from the excellent glory,
This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.
And this voice which came from heaven we heard, when
we were with him in the holy mount" (2 Pet. i. 16-18).
Peter is anticipating his departure, as he says, " Know-
ing that shortly I must put off this my tabernacle, even
as our Lord Jesus Christ hath showed me" (ver. 1 4). A
jcruel martyrdom is before him, and having long lived
with an eye to it, he now feels it to be near at hand.
But to him the bitterness of death is past. It was past
so soon as he learned, under the Spirit's teaching, the
awful import of his Master's agonizing cries, as well as of
his own and his friends' irresistible drowsiness in the
garden, on that night when it was as the very gate of
hell. And now it is a brighter vision that fills his soul
The Lord, who then gave vent to strong crying and tears,
is coming in glory. For it is no fable this, cunningly
devised ; it had been miserable folly to follow a fable.
To Peter, it is an actually seen and witnessed reality.
It had been given to him, as he rejoices to declare, to
behold the very glory in which the Lord is coming. And
with what thoughts of inexpressible tenderness towards
John — John, so soon to be the sole survivor of the three
who had been witnesses of it — does Peter make this
reference to the transfiguration of the Lord ! For doubt-
less he has John full in his mind and on his heart. He

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 253

is about to leave him behind in the world, — to leave him
perhaps, for anything he knows, till the Lord come again ;
yet, in any event, not to leave or lose him for ever.
What emotions, what recollections, what hopes, must have
been gushing forth within him, when embracing, as it
were, his long-tried and dearly -loved friend in his arms
once more, the old man gave utterance to these noble
words : ' We — John and I — have not followed cunningly-
devised fables, when we made known unto you the power
and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. We were ourselves
together eye-witnesses of his majesty !'

Many circumstances of resemblance, and bonds of inti-
macy, might be pointed out as occurring in the dealings
which their Master had with the two disciples severally,
and they with him, during the ordinary course of his
ministry. For there is a similarity in these particulars
not always noticed.

Did the Lord, for instance, see in Simon such a temper
of mind, or did he foresee in regard to him such a turn
of destiny, as to warrant his being named Cephas, or
Peter — a stone, the rock — whether in reference to his
indomitable strength of resolution, or to the services he
was to render in the first founding of the Church ? Did
he not, also, give to John and his brother James, on
similar considerations, the perhaps even more expressive
name of Boanerges, or Sons of Thunder ? James, alas !
lived too short a time after the Lord's departure to verify
the appellation. It must have been John, therefore, espe-
cially that the title was meant to note and characterize,

/>.

254 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

as destined to show himself vehement and bold in his
Master's cause, and powerful in dealing with his Master's
foes.

Peter, on one occasion, incurred the Lord's displeasure,
and received his stern rebuke — " Get thee behind me,
Satan" — when, giving utterance to his feelings of personal
attachment to the Saviour, with little or no regard to the
work and ministry which he came to accomplish, he
would have stood in the way of his going up to Jerusa-
lem (Matt. xvi. 23). It was very much the same spirit
that moved John and his brother James to propose that
•the inhospitality of the Samaritans, who would not give
the Saviour passage through their town, should be visited
with swift resentment, and that fire from heaven should
be called down to destroy them. The Lord turned and
rebuked them, and said, " Ye know not what manner of
spirit ye are of ; for the Son of man is not come to de-
stroy men's lives, but to save them" (Luke ix. 55, 56).
It was the same love to Christ's person, generous, disin-
terested, and even violent, but without enough of intelli-
gent sympathy with his mission, that made John propose
to avenge the insult put upon him by others, and moved
Peter to seek to lay an arrest upon his purpose of going
up to Jerusalem to die.

Again, the forwardness of Peter to profess his attach-
ment to the Lord, and to claim pre-eminence in respect
of fidelity over his fellows — " Though all men shall be
offended because of thee, yet will I never be offended.
Though I should die with thee, I will not deny thee"
(Matt. xxvi. 33, 35) — has its parallel not only in the

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 255

ambitious proposal of the sons of Zebedee, that they
should have the first place in the Lord's kingdom, sitting
at his right hand and at his left, but also, and especially,
in the fearlessness of their reply to the question which
the Lord then put to them : " Can ye drink of my cup,
and be baptized with my baptism ? They say unto him,
We can" (Mark x. 38, 39).

Even the weakness of Peter, brought out in his yielding
under the very trials of his faith he had himself courted,
— as in the instances of his walking on the water, and
his denial of the Lord, — would seem to have its corre-
sponding feature in the character and conduct of John ;
if at least, as many think, John is the young man spoken
of by Mark who followed Jesus at first with seeming
courage when he was apprehended, but afterwards, being
himself laid hold on, left his upper garment and fled
(Mark xiv. 51).

Altogether, there is surely more congeniality of natural
temperament between Peter and John, as well as more
agreement in their spiritual experience, and in the pro-
gress of their faith and love, than is often supposed. For
there is a vague notion in the minds of not a few respect-
ing John, that a certain unmingled sweetness and mild
amiability of character distinguished him as the disciple
whom Jesus loved. He is regarded very generally as a
man of soft and sentimental, and almost feminine tender-
ness, having in his composition something of what David,
as we have seen, attributes in his lamentation to Jonathan,
when he says, " Yery pleasant hast thou been unto me ;
thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women."

256 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

That John should even be compared with Peter, or placed
on the same footing, may seem to some offensive ; so
much are they accustomed to conceive of Peter as a hard,
common-place, every-day sort of character, — the very
opposite of the refined, and somewhat romantic, ethereal,
and transcendental quietism, which they are pleased to
ascribe to the gentle spirit of John. There is an idea,
also, that the writings of John, like himself, breathe only
mildness, suavity, and serenity ; those of Peter being
comparatively rugged and harsh.

Now, we are far from denying that there was a real
-difference between them. It is brought out both in their
manner of acting and in their style of writing. Peter
evidently was a man of a more practical understanding
and active temperament than John ; inquisitive, alert,
hasty ; expert in the use of arguments ; prompt in de-
ciding and speaking ; ready for emergencies, and fertile
in expedients. John, again, was of a deeper and calmer,
and perhaps slower, mood; swayed more by inward
emotional feeling than by mere reason or external impulse ;
deliberate, therefore, rather than abrupt, and not fluctuat-
ing, but uniform and consistent. Still, there is in both
the same under-current, strong and clear, of warm and
even passionate devotion ; frank, unselfish, single-eyed ;
— only it seems as if, in the one, the stream met with
more eddie" rocks, and cross currents ; while, in the
other, it ran in a less broken channel

Their respective writings, if carefully studied together,
might bear out this comparison. John, indeed, in his
epistles, seems to know no theme but love, and in his

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 257

gospel lie opens the very heart of the loving Saviour ;
while Peter's letters turn more on the business of the
Christian life, — its hard work and its rude trials. But
where, in all the Bible, are there more enthusiastic out-
bursts of tenderness than that of Peter : " Whom having
not seen, ye love ; in whom, though now ye see him not,
yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of
glory" ? (1 Pet. i 8.) Nor is this a solitary example, for
many other similar instances of sublimity might be quoted.
And 'as to John, if severity, wrath, and terror, are to be
found anywhere in the word of God, let the beloved
disciple's writings be searched for such qualities. Not
Peter's sword cutting off the ear of the high priest's
servant is sharper than John's rebuke, when he indignantly
denounces the pre-eminence-loving Diotrephes, and debars
every heretic from the house and home of a believer, and
forbids any to pray for the unpardonable sin (3 John 1 0 ;
2 John 10 ;1 John v. 16).

The truth is, there is a fallacy abroad, and an ingenious
self-deception is practised by certain minds, by means of
the distinction which they would fain draw between the
milder and more amiable apostle, and him whom they
put aside as " made of sterner stuff." It is like the
preference which some affect to give to the Gospels above
the Epistles, or to the New Testament above the Old, or
to the gentleness of James above the hard sayings of
Paul. It is like what we sometimes see in common life ;
— a worldly man attempting to set off the meekness of a
retiring saint against the fire and fervour of a hard-
fighting soldier in Christ's host. He is partial, it seems,
R

258 SCKIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

to what is serene and sweet ; he loves repose, and dislikes
all that looks like haste, or hurry, or violence. If Chris-
tianity were all modelled after the pattern of a weeping
Magdalene or a mystical Madonna, it might be tolerable ;
but your men of rude speech and action break the spell
and dissolve all the charm.

It is a most suspicious compliment, however, that these
would-be Christians pay to the devotees whom they
profess to admire. For themselves, they are but seeking,
like those of whom the children in the market-place
complained, to cast the blame of their rejection of the
gospel on something wrong in the manner of presenting
it, and not on what they are conscious is the real cause,
—its deep distastefulness to their own evil hearts of
unbelief. And, as regards the style of piety which they
pretend to honour at the expense of that which really
disturbs them more, — they little understand how entirely
at heart Peter and John understand and sympathize with
each other, and are in everything at one. For surely,
if there be in Peter any of the uncompromising, rugged,
stubborn sternness which his name of the feock might
indicate ; there is a fire in John's bosom, and a bolt in
his hand, that amply justify his appellation of a Son of
Thunder.

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 259

XV.
THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN.

" Then Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following ;
which also leaned on his breast at supper, and said, Lord, which is he that
betrayeth thee 1 Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this
man do 1 Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is
that to thee 1 follow thou me."— JOHN xxi. 20-22.

PART SECOND.

IT is no ordinary friendship that we are tracing, no
common -place acquaintanceship or familiarity, when we
make a study of the intimacy between Peter and John.
How the friendship first arose — whether from contiguity
and neighbourhood of residence, or similarity of occupa-
tion, or community of taste, or, as we might say, mere
accident and casual circumstances — it would be idle to
conjecture, and not very profitable, even if it were possible,
to discover ; nor need we regret much our inability to
determine the probable nature and degree of their fellow-
ship, before they met with Jesus and became his followers.
Afterwards, as we have seen, they had enough of experi-
ence in common to knit them together in the closest and
most confidential union. Their common alacrity in con-
senting together to forsake all for Christ and to wait
upon his ministry, their common sight of his glory on
the mount, and their common participation in his agony
in the garden, — these formed bonds of mutual sympathy
as strong as they were strange. And a certain subdued

260 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

congeniality of temper, amid great diversities, calling
forth the same kind of rebukes on the part of their
Master, as well as the same kind of lessons and encour-
agements, was fitted to make them intimately and
thoroughly one.

The real value of this unity may be seen most evi-
dently, as it appears to us, — First, In what passed
between them as their Master 's life on earth drew
towards its close ; and, Secondly, In the brief but em-
phatic notice of the separation awaiting the two friends,
with which, after his resurrection, the Lord wound up
his conversation with Peter concerning John.

I. The close of their Master's life brought Peter and
John very much together. As Jesus drew near to the
city to eat his last passover, these were the two disciples
whom he sent on before him to make the needful pre-
paration : " And he sent Peter and John, saying, Go
and prepare us the passover, that we may eat" (Luke
xxii. 8). At the paschal supper itself, when Jesus,
troubled in spirit, made the melancholy announcemei
that one of the twelve should betray him, — amid th<
blank astonishment and dismay that sat on every face,
as, looking one to another, they doubted of whom he
spake, — we find Peter beckoning, or making a signal, to
the disciple whom Jesus loved, that he should ask tli
Lord, on whose bosom he was leaning, " Lord, who
it?" — a trifling incident in itself, but characteristic,
the one hand, of Peter's readiness of resource, — for it
was quite like him to suggest the expedient that inighi

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 261

end the terrible suspense ; and, on the other hand, indi-
cating the footing on which the two apostles were, and
the sort of telegraphic and electric understanding that
subsisted between them : " Now there was leaning on
Jesus' bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved.
Simon Peter therefore beckoned to him, that he should
ask who it should be of whom he spake. He then lying
on Jesus' breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it ?
Jesus answered, He it is to whom I shall give a sop,
when I have dipped it. And when he had dipped the
sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon"
(John xiii. 23-26).

Let us imagine such a sympathy as this would imply,
between Peter and John. Let us conceive of the be-
loved disciple — himself reposing on the bosom of his
Master, and drinking in his words of deep sorrow, yet of
infinite love — as he catches the eye of his anxious and
excited friend. A momentary suspicion flashes through
his mind, as he detects some trembling — perhaps some
vacillation — in the eager look. Instantly he is aroused ;
and taking advantage of his position, and of his Master's
acknowledged partiality, he hastens to set a bursting
heart at rest, and to relieve Peter of his fears.

From the supper there is an adjournment to the garden,
where together they are found yielding to the oppressive
sorrow of the scene. And immediately thereafter, there
follow in quick succession, like the incidents in a dream,
the arrest of Jesus, his trial, his crucifixion, and his burial.

And all throughout this tragedy, Peter and John are
together.

262 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

If John be indeed the young man of whom Mark
speaks (xiv. 51, 52), who fled, leaving his upper gar-
ment, as he was laid hold of in following Jesus, — he
soon repented and returned. For there is little doubt
that he was the individual who introduced Peter into
the palace of the high priest (John xviii. 1 5, 1 6). "We
gather this from the style and manner of the description,
compared with this evangelist's usual way of indicating
himself. What interest or influence he had with the
high priest's officers, or how he was known to the high
priest himself, does not appear. It is supposed by some,
that Zebedee, his father, was a man of wealth and con-
sideration, and that, personally, John held a somewhat
distinguished rank or position among his countrymen.
But be that as it may, he has evidently the means of
entering himself into the hall where his Master is to be
tried, and of procuring admission for his companion and
friend (John xviii. 15, 16).

Ah ! little did John think, when he executed for Peter
this commission of common civility, that the issue was to
be so disastrous and deplorable. But the trial goes on.
Peter is betrayed into the cowardly sin of denying his
Master ; and John, who was instrumental unadvisedly in
introducing him to the scene of temptation, has the deep
mortification of witnessing his friend's disgrace. But h<
catches a glimpse of what is in the eye of the Lord, as
turns and looks upon Peter. And he sees, also, the tears
ready gushing, as he goes out, from the smitten penitent's <

Shall we say that he makes haste to follow him ?
rather, as we shortly after find John at the foot of th<

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 263

cross, receiving the charge which, in the midst of all his
own agony, the son of Mary committed to him, " Mother,
behold thy son ; Son, behold thy mother," shall we say,
that after leading that mother to his own house, and
soothing her poignant grief as best he might, he be-
thought himself of his fallen friend, and went in search
of Peter, whom he had seen, under the piercing yet melt-
ing glance of their common Master's eye, going out to
weep bitterly? Certain it is, that we find Peter and
John together on the morning of the resurrection (John
xx. 1, 2). And they are together, as it would seem, not
casually or suddenly, but by design and on set purpose.
Have they been together all the time, since their Lord
was laid in his silent tomb ? And how have they been
spending that dismal interval ?

0 Christian friendship ! how precious art thou ! When
the Saviour is in the grave, and Peter, disconsolate and
despairing, is brooding over his base treachery — and
that last look of the Holy One, which, beaming with
kindness, all the more on that account cut him to the
heart, — thou, 0 Divine Consolation ! thou bringest to
him one dearer than a brother; younger in years, but
how tender in sympathy! It is John; who amid the
overwhelming sorrow of that hour — with the grief of
witnessing the cruel torture of Him who loved him full
in his bosom, and upon his hands the care of her who
was now to be his mother, as she had been the mother
of his Lord — has yet leisure to remember the claims of
brotherly affection, and to seek out and console his fallen
but much loved friend

264 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

We might here give imagination the reins; but we
forbear. The sacred history has wrapt in deep and un-
broken gloom the period that intervened between tl
burial and the resurrection of the Lord ; nor is it for
to break the silence of these nights and that day, whei
it might seem as if all creation were hushed in int
expectancy tiU it should be seen whether Heaven or H<
had gained the victory, — whether the sacrifice so marvel
lously offered would prove fruitless, or would win accept
ance and salvation. But the fact that, during that awft
pause, John was with Peter, and that they were foi
together on the third morning, is in itself enough — it
speaks volumes. What might be their converse, who
guess? " We did trust/' they might be sadly saying
one another, " that it was he that should have redeem*
Israel." But he is gone, — it may be for ever ; and
seems to be lost. Hope is withered, and, for our coi
solation, memory is all that now remains; — -memory,
John, of that last endearment at the supper; in Peter,
that last offence at the trial And yet, friendship
blend the two. The bosom on which John leaned,
eye that looked upon Peter, are now common in the
retrospect to both. They mourn, in their sad berea^
ment and bitter penitence, together.

And now the morning is come. The dreary Sabbat
is over, and the first day of the week begins to
The friends are together still, when the strange tic
reach them of the women having gone to the tomb
found it empty, and having received a message froi
angels. Together the two disciples rush, with eager fe

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 265

to verify the news. The youthful John outstrips his
partner in the race, and is first at the empty sepulchre;
where he pauses to gaze, and wonder, and mourn. The
more impetuous Peter, arriving breathless at the spot,
waits not a moment to reconnoitre outside, but promptly
leads the way within. John as promptly follows. And
in a moment the minds of both are opened to an ap-
prehension of the marvellous event that has occurred.
Together they own the Scriptures fulfilled, as the light of
the glorious doctrine of the resurrection flashes simul-
taneously on their understandings ; and, wondering at
their former blindness, they encourage one another in the
belief that the promised Christ must indeed rise again
from the dead, — and that this Jesus, their beloved Mas-
ter, is the Christ. The whole scene is as characteristic as
it is interesting and instructive (John xx. 1-10).

Little more remains to be added on the subject of this
friendship between Peter and John. That it was pro-
longed into their future lives and ministries, after the
Church began to be formed, is sufficiently apparent from
the history in the book of Acts. Thus, we read of Peter
and John going up together to the temple, on the occa-
sion on which the lame man was healed, " at the gate
which is called Beautiful" (Acts iii. 1-11). Again, we
see them cast into prison together, and then brought
before the council to be examined. And we have their
joint reply, so nobly given when they were " commanded
not to speak at all nor teach in the name of Jesus :"
" Peter and John answered and said unto them, Whether
it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you more

266 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

than 'unto God, judge ye" (Acts iv. 19). We find them,
also, associated together in a mission to the Church in
Samaria which Philip was instrumental in planting :
" Now when the apostles which were at Jerusalem heard
that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent
unto them Peter and John: who, when they were come
down, prayed for them that they might receive the Holy
Ghost" (Acts viii. 14, 15). And finally, along with
James, " Cephas and John" are mentioned by Paul as
joint pillars in the church at Jerusalem; and, in that
character, giving to him and Barnabas the right hand of
-fellowship (Gal ii. 9).

Thus throughout, to the very last, we have incidental
traces, slight in themselves, but significant when taken
together, of the close association and constant personal
intimacy of these two holy men. And we feel justified
therefore, on the whole, and upon scriptural grounds, in
the view which we have been giving of this close and
blessed friendship between Peter and John.

II. But we cannot conclude without adverting, in con-
nection with this subject of the friendship of these apostles,
to a few points brought out in the concluding chapter of
John's Gospel ; and especially to what is there recorded as
having passed between Peter and his Master, relative to
the fate of John.

The very writing of this chapter, it would almost
seem, is to be regarded as a tribute of friendship, on the
part of John, to the memory of his beloved and now
departed comrade, Peter. It was, as is generally be-

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 267

lieved, the last task on earth of the disciple whom Jesus
loved, to prepare his Gospel. Moved and inspired by
the Holy Ghost, he gave to this work the latest days of
his lengthened life. And what more congenial occupa-
tion could he have had assigned to him? He had ad-
dressed to the Church at large, as well as to individuals,
letters of warning, affectionate and faithful, against the
deadly errors of that time, when men were already be-
ginning to deny, or explain away, all the reality of the
atonement made by Christ, and the renewal wrought by
the Spirit. He had put on record the revelation of all
things about to happen on the earth, down to the era of
the Lord's appearing in glory, and the establishment of
his glorious heavenly kingdom. And now, on the near
verge of the grave, with his foot on the very confines of
the eternal world, he is summoned to live over again, in
inspired recollection, and in minute detail, those three
youthful years of his personal fellowship with the Lord,
which to him are worth uncounted ages.

Blessed toil! nay, rather rapturous enjoyment! How
he throw his whole soul into it, and linger over it,

3ling as if he never could have done!
Notice, for instance, the close of the 20th chapter:

And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence
his disciples, which are not written in this book: but

lese are written, that ye might believe that Jesus is

te Christ, the Son of God ; and that believing ye might
rave life through his name" (ver. 30, 31). Plainly, the

inerable writer was then laying down his pen. It is
formal finishing of the book. But he cannot tear

268 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

liimself away ; he cannot bring himself to say, Farewell
There are more last words to utter; there is a postscript
— an appendix — a supplement to add. He resumes the
pen ; he has omitted something of interest and value ; he
has to rear a monument more durable than brass, not
only to his Master, but to his Master's friend, and his
own.

For who can doubt that it is partly, at least, as a
memorial of Peter that this extra matter in the 21st
chapter is given? The whole chapter is about Peter.
And with what exquisite tact and taste, with what ten-
derness and what truth, is Peter sketched to us in this
affecting picture!

We see him standing beside John on the vessel's side,
when, at the command of Jesus, as yet unrecognised, the
net is let down, and the multitude of fishes taken. John
is the first to discern who this seeming stranger is; and
his eager whisper to Simon Peter, " It is the Lord," is
characteristic of the disciple whom Jesus loved. Equally
characteristic is it of Peter himself that he is the first to
act on the hint, and impetuously cast himself into the
sea, in his haste to meet the Master whom he had so
recently denied.

All ! the blessedness of that bitter weeping ! How is
it turned into joy! But for those gracious, relenting
drops, of which the Lord's eye, as he turned and looked
on him, unlocked the fountain and source within, Peter
must have shrunk from encountering him again. He
must have fled, like Judas, to despair and suicide. But
now there is an attraction in the very Saviour whom he

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 269

has pierced, drawing Peter towards him. He hastens to
embrace him : and well is his haste recompensed !

In the interview that follows, the Lord addresses him-
self to Peter alone. All the past is buried in oblivion;
forgiveness begets love ; much forgiveness, much love.
The fallen apostle is restored; the shepherd's crook is
again put into his hand, — the martyr's crown is suspend-
ed over his head. And it is John who tells it all ! (chap,
xxi. 15-18.)

Is it not fitly reserved for John to tell it? He, as
well as the other evangelists, is to record his friend's fall ;
but he alone is to have the satisfaction of recording his
friend's recovery. Was ever monument to friendship
more precious? Was ever friendship more worthy of such
a monument?

Nor is it, we may well believe, without emotion, that
n winding up his whole history once more, John notices
proof of affectionate interest which Peter gave, when,

the very midst of such close personal dealing of the
>rd with his conscience, and such peculiar experience as
tight have engrossed his whole soul, he yet found leisure
to remember his friend. Peter might have been ex-
cused had he thought merely of himself in such a crisis.
But that was not his nature. The beloved disciple is
beside him; and, as if remembering and returning the
kind service rendered on the night when during supper
John questioned the Lord at Peter's suggestion — " Who
is it, Lord?" — Peter now, on his part, asks the Lord con-
cerning John, "And what shall this man do?"

' What is to become of him ? He has been lovely and

270 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

pleasant to me in life ; are we, in death, to be divided ?
Thou hast engaged me to love thee, and thou knowest
that I love thee, — good cause hast thou given me to love
thee, and none but thee. Thou hast assigned to me my
work : and most welcome work it is, — to feed thy lambs,
—to feed thy sheep. Thou hast warned me of the
death by which I am to glorify God ; and though not now
so foolhardy as once I was, and so ready to volunteer
myself for martyrdom, I shrink not from what thou ap-
pointest. Thou hast given me that command, including
all promises and all grace, — " Follow me;" and, Lord,
thou wilt enable me to follow thee even unto death, and
through death to glory. But what of my friend — my
more than brother, whom thou, Lord, lovest, who leaned
on thy breast at supper? Following thee, must I be
parted from him? We were together when thou didst
call us, at the first, to forsake all and follow thee; and
together we left all the world behind, that we might bear
thee company, and wait on thee. We have been to-
gether, he and I, ever since; and on that dreary day
when thou wast in the tomb, and I, a miserable sinner,
had seen, as I imagined, the last of thee, and seen thee
in that look of thine that cut me to the heart, what, oh !
what would have become of me, but for his sympathy
with me in my unutterable sorrow? And now, can I be
blamed for wanton or impertinent curiosity when I ask
thee to satisfy me as to the future course of that friend-
ship which hitherto has run so deep? It is not that I
hesitate about following thee, — it is not that I draw back
even from a cross like thine own; but this man, good

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 271

Lord, what of him? One word to alleviate the anxiety
of friendship — of such a friendship; and I am ready — I
am thine for ever ! '

Can it possibly be an answer of stern reproof that the
Lord, in such circumstances, returns to such an inquiry on
the part of one with whom he has been dealing so closely
and so graciously, — " If I will that he tarry till I come,
what is that to thee ? follow thou me ? " Nay ; we con-
fidently say it is " not, — it cannot be so intended. We
lot believe that the Lord designs to upbraid Peter, or
take otherwise than in good part the affectionate soli-
jitude of his friendly interest in John.

Some, indeed, would have this to be a rebuke of Peter's
iwarrantable curiosity, a check given to his inquisitive
of mind, which made him eager to learn the appointed
lestiny of a brother, instead of acquiescing in what the
)rd had told him respecting his own. And in this view
edifying practical lessons may, no doubt, be deduced
specting the sin and folly of prying, or seeking to pry,
ito our neighbours' circumstances and affairs, and the
ropriety of attending to what more nearly concerns our-
Lves.

But there is surely more in this reply of our Lord than
mere censuring of his disciple's inquisitiveness. No
)ubt, it must have been sufficiently irritating, if at a
ie when his Master was dealing so very graciously, and
very pointedly, with his own soul, Peter manifested the
)irit of a mere busybody in other men's matters. Still,
lything like even the appearance of severity, after so
mder a scene, jars on the feelings which that scene

272 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

awakens. Peter's question respecting John may have been
dictated by some other and better motive than idle curio-
sity ; and the answer of the Lord may have been designed
to convey, not only a hint against the indulgence of such
a temper, but a weightier and deeper lesson. It was as
a warm friend, and not a frivolous, gossiping interloper,
that Peter was moved, at such a crisis, to think of John
so affectionately, and to inquire so earnestly, " What shall
this man do?" And it was this friendly interest in a
brother's fate that the Lord meant, not to suppress, but
to turn into a right and comfortable channel, when he
gave the somewhat abrupt and oracular response, " If I
will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow
thou me" (xxi. 22).

What is there, then, in this reply ? Upon what, at
the time, would the full heart of Peter, eagerly and in-
tently fasten?

The saying, as we are told, gave rise to a vague rumour
that John was not to die: " Then went this saying abroad
among the brethren that that disciple should not die."
That disciple himself is anxious to show that what Jesus
said to Peter warranted no such conclusion : " Yet Jesus
said not to him, He shall not die ; but, If I will that he
tarry till I come, what is that to thee ?" (xxi. 23). What
the Lord's reply to Peter did not necessarily mean, Jol
carefully explains. What it did mean, he does not
One thing, however, is clear; it must, at all events, hai
conveyed to Peter the impression, that he was to U-;n
John behind him on the earth. Whether his b
friend was to die at last or not, he was to be exempt fr

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 273

such a premature and violent death as his own was to be.
1 John, it seems, is to live on after I am gone, and in a
good old age his days on earth are to close tranquilly, —
the current of his life flowing calmly into the ocean of
eternity, either through the peaceful outlet of a natural
decease or through the wide-opening portals of the gate
that is to admit the King of glory/ Then be it so.
Peter does not envy his friend, or grudge him any higher
favour which the Lord may have destined for him. He
is content, — it is nothing to him ; he follows Jesus.

What ! nothing to him who had but now so anxiously
put the question, " What of this man?" Nothing, to be
parted so cruelly from his friend whom he must leave
behind, — perhaps till his Master's coming again ?

No ; for in that coming he, following Jesus, has a share.
Peter may be snatched away by a bloody death before
his time, — John may tarry till Jesus come. But what of
that ? It is but a little while, and " he that shall come
will come, and will not tarry/' Hush then, Peter, thy
earnest questioning concerning thy friend, who is to be
spared when thou art taken. And thou, John, beloved
disciple of thy Lord, be satisfied, if it so please him, to
tarry till he come ; yes, even when thy weary head would
fain repose itself again on thy Master's bosom. It will
be all one to thy friend and to thee, very soon. Peter
has followed Jesus through martyrdom into his rest ; thou
tarriest, if he will, till he come. But all will be well then.

Thus the parting of Christian friends may lose its

sharpest pang. They part to meet again, if not sooner, at

s

274 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PETER AND JOHN:

least when the Lord comes. The dying believer
be willing to depart, — the survivor may be contented to
remain, — for the time is short, the world is passing away,
and the Lord is at hand.

Am I summoned, like Peter, to follow Jesus into the
unseen and undiscovered country whence no traveller e'er
returns ? and do I leave a beloved John behind ? Still,
to depart and to be with Christ is far better, — to be
absent from the body and present with the Lord. Pre-
cious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.
Nor need the fate of the friend to whom I bid adieu con-
cern me much. How long he is to tarry on this cold
earth when I am gone is really nothing to me ; — no, not
even should it be appointed to him to tarry till the Lord
come. For — oh ! rapturous anticipation ! — the Lord will
come ; and they that are his shall appear with him in
glory ; and the living that are tarrying for him shall be
changed; and all shall be for ever with the Lord ! Then,
let me be willing to follow Jesus, however cruel may be
the death by which I am to glorify God, and however
dear the friend from whom I am constrained to part.
Enough for me to know, that, let my death be ever so
cruel, it is but following Jesus still, — following him through
his tribulation into his glory ; and let my friend tarry
ever so long behind me, it can at the utmost be no longer
than till Jesus come.

Am I called, on the other hand, like John, to witness
the removal of some dear brother or venerable father in
the Lord, and to tarry behind alone ? Am I desolate and
lonely, feclin.ir MS if life luul now no object, and this \\<>rl<l

THEIR FRIENDSHIP. 275

no charm ? Let me first call to remembrance, that " to
me to live is Christ/' Whosoever may be taken from me,
the desire of my eyes, the delight of my soul, — still all
is not a blank to me. I have something left to live for ;
— " To me to live is Christ." Then, as to those who fall
asleep in Jesus, let me not ignoraiitly sorrow, even as
others that have no hope. For if I believe that Jesus
died and rose again, let me believe also that them which
sleep in Jesus God will bring with him. Long time I
may have to tarry after my best and dearest ones are
gone. He whom they have followed through painful
deaths, and whom I still seek to follow in my weary life,
may will that I tarry till he come. Be it so. For he
himself says, " Surely I come quickly : Amen. Even so,
come, Lord Jesus/'

276 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

XVI.

MARY MAGDALENE— WITH PETER AND JOHN
AT THE SEPULCHRE.

JOHN xx. 1-18.

As a sequel to the sketch which we have been giving of
the friendship between Peter and John, — a friendship
growing all throughout their attendance on the Lord's
ministry, and especially hallowed by its closing scenes,—
we may find it interesting to notice what passed at the
sacred sepulchre on the morning of the resurrection. And
all the rather may this interest us, because it introduces
another character, and places in a most affecting light the
tenderness of another true penitent's heart. Mary, —
surnamed Magdalene from the place of her birth or resi-
dence,— pre-eminent in sin and suffering, and in her debt
of obligation for sin forgiven and suffering relieved, has
the high honour conferred upon her of being among the
first to hear of the risen Saviour, and the first to see hii
self. In this honour she has associated with her Pel
and John ; and thus these three together become the
witnesses of the fact of the resurrection.

In tracing the incidents of that memorable mornii
we follow chiefly the narrative of the last of the foi
evangelists. His narrative is here, as usual, supple
mentary to those of the other three ; and is, besides, moi
definitely directed to a special end. The object of Jol

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 277

in all his history, and especially in this portion of it, is
not merely in general to record miscellaneously certain
circumstances connected with the Lord's resurrection ; but
in particular to establish this precise truth, — that " Jesus
is the Christ, the Son of God/' and that they who " be-
lieve have life through his name." With this view, he
dwells chiefly on those features in this event, and on
those sayings of his beloved Master, which tended to
bring prominently forward the high dignity of his person,
and the purpose of love for which he " died, and rose, and
revived" (Rom. xiv. 9).

I. The first particular which the evangelist notices, is
the arrival of Mary Magdalene at the tomb : " The first
day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it
was yet dark, unto the sepulchre, and seeth the stone
taken away from the sepulchre" (John xx. 1).

Although John mentions Mary Magdalene, and none
else by name, and gives no hint of any others being with
her, he says nothing inconsistent with that supposition.
He singles out Mary, because it is exclusively with what
happened to her that he is concerned. But he does not
assert, nor do his words at all imply, that she was alone.
And we gather from the other narratives that she was
not alone.

It must be confessed, indeed, that the harmony of the
several evangelical accounts of the resurrection is by no
means very clearly ascertained with any general consent,
or unanimity of interpreters ; and it would be unsafe and
unwise to pronounce very positively on any point that

278 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

depends on an exact adjustment of independent testi-
monies, all consistent with one another, but evidently not
intended to be reduced into one full and formal history.
It is not difficult to prove that they need not be under-
stood as contradicting one another, — that where their
statements seem to conflict, a very little attention will
suggest a sufficiently probable explanation, and show how
they may be reconciled. But, on the other hand, it is to
be remembered that the sacred narratives — being all of
them of a fragmentary character, and consisting chiefly of
incidental notices or reminiscences — may not, even when
taken together, afford all the materials of a complete his-
tory. We would probably require to know more of what
passed than all the four evangelists have told us, before
we could assign to each circumstance exactly its proper
place, and explain its relation to other matters. This
consideration might be useful to all who attempt formally
to harmonize the Gospels; and it may satisfy us in de-
clining, in the present instance, to make the attempt at
all It is enough to observe, that in what the four hi*
tories record as to the resurrection, there is really nc
contradiction.

Mary Magdalene, then, came early in the morning,
the first day of the week, along with the other womei
who had been making preparations for anointing the
of Jesus. They had been saying to themselves, as thei
drew near the tomb, " Who shall roll us away the stone ?J
They found the stone already removed. On percer
this, it would seem that Mary, without waiting to make
any further examination, abruptly left her companions

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. ' 279

the grave, and hastened to carry this intelligence to the
disciples : " Then she runneth, and cometh to Simon Peter,
and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and saith
unto them, They have taken away the Lord out of the
sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him"
(ver. 2). This is her inference from what she had seen.
She is greatly agitated. The mere sight of the stone
rolled away throws her into confusion; and the idea at
once rushes into her mind, that the grave must have been
rifled, and the Saviour's body taken away. Full of this
impression, she runs into the city.

The other women, meanwhile, remain at the tomb.
There they see, first one angel, and then two. One
angel had descended previous to the arrival of the wo-
men : "And, behold, there had been a great earthquake :
for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and
came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat
upon it" (Matt, xxviii. 2, marg. reading). This angel
had taken his station at first on the outside of the

jpulchre ; and thereafter, along with another heavenly
isitor, he seems to have appeared to the women and

mversed with them within the sepulchre. The two

igels sat or stood within the sepulchre, on either side
of the place where Jesus lay, varying their posture as
they welcomed and addressed the women. With what
between the angels and the company of women
we are not now particularly concerned. The women
received a gracious message to the disciples, and to Peter
by name, — such tenderness was shown to the erring
Le. They were informed that the Lord had risen ;

280 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

they were reminded of his having himself told them that
he would rise, and that he would meet them in Galilee.
And now, for the first time understanding the import of
their Lord's prediction, they hastened to execute his com-
mission, and to " bring the disciples word" (Matt, xxviii
5-8 ; Mark xvi. 5-8 ; Luke xxiv. 3-10).

All this may have occupied some time after Mary
Magdalene left them. For that she had parted company
with them before their interview with the angels, imme-
diately on perceiving the stone rolled away, is plain from
what she says to Peter and the other disciple, who, as
we have seen, was his friend John : " They have taken
away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not
where they have laid him" (John xx. 2). This she could
scarcely have said if she had heard the angels deliver
their message. That message must have reassured her,
as it reassured the other women : " Why seek ye the
living among the dead ? He is not here, but is risen/'
So the angels, or one of them, spoke. And the women,
assured that he was " going before his disciples into Ga-
lilee, and that there they were to see him," " departed
quickly from the sepulchre, with fear and great joy."
Evidently Mary Magdalene had not received this assur-
ance, when, immediately on seeing the stone removed,
she hurried off with the tidings to Peter and John. She
had not waited with the rest of the women. She could
not stand the shock of this new and sudden disappoint^
ment. She, out of whom the Lord had cast seven devils
— she, being forgiven much, loved much. What she
suffered when the Lord whom she loved died on the

WITH PETEE AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 281

cross, who can conceive ? Now, her whole heart is bent
on honouring him, though dead. She has looked forward,
with intense longing, to the hour when she may anoint
the body of Jesus. Though crucified, he is still dear to
her ; and, by every token of grateful remembrance, she
will testify her attachment. The moment when she is to
render to him this last service is come. But the melan-
choly gratification is denied to her. She rushes from the
open sepulchre, and gives vent to her bitter grief in that
singularly affecting exclamation, " They have taken away
the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where
they have laid him."

Shall we blame this poor mourner for her haste and
precipitation? Had she lingered a little longer at the
tomb ; had she inquired more diligently, and searched all
around more patiently ; she might have learned some-
thing of Him whom she sought, — something better far
than anything that she could have expected beforehand.
If she had not found him where she sought him, she
would at least have learned where she might seek and be
sure of finding him now ; and, above all, she would have
been taught to look, not for a dead, but for a living Sav-
iour. Shall we reflect upon her folly in depriving her-
self of this opportunity by so abruptly quitting the scene
where she might have hoped, if she had persevered, ere
long to be satisfied? Shall we not rather rejoice that
she is led so soon to return to it ? They to whom she
flies to unburden all her grief, happily direct her, by their
example, in the right way ; for they hasten to the spot,
and, as we shall soon see, she herself hastens after them.

282 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

If she erred in yielding to her disappointment too easily
her error is speedily repaired. If she left the place
the Lord's burial too hastily, she is immediately brought
back to it again.

Is there ever a time when, in any measure, your ex]
rience is analogous to hers? You have come — vei
lately, perhaps — to the sepulchre, on the first day of the
week, on a communion Sabbath. You have come to
contemplate your Lord in his death, and to perform a
simple and touching service in remembrance of him.
You intended to do him honour, and you expected to
enjoy a certain meditative and mournful pleasure in thus
showing your attachment to your crucified Lord. You
have been disappointed. You have not received those
impressions which you thought would be made on you ;
nor have you, to your own satisfaction, been able to
render that homage and service which you proposed.
You feel as if you had come to discharge a pious office,
and had found nothing but an empty form. And now
you are ready to complain that your devotion has been
all in vain.

We would not, in such a case, inquire too particularly
what your views and anticipations may have been. You
may have come under the impulse of a kind of natural
feeling, — a blind and vague desire to testify, in this way,
your regard and reverence for Him who died on the cross,
having but a very imperfect and inadequate idea of the
terms on which you should have been looking and waiting
for him. You may have come, as you imagined, to dis-
charge a debt or duty of gratitude, with but little appre-

WITH PETEE, AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 283

hension of the real nature of the service for which you
have to be grateful — with but little intelligent or spiritual
faith in Jesus, as delivered for your offences, and raised
again for your justification. But whatever may have been
your purpose in coming, if only you came honestly and in
sincerity, we would not now upbraid you. It may be
matter of regret, however, that you have too hastily with-
drawn yourselves from the scene and the subject to which
you recently resorted ; and it may be a good deed to lead
you back to those memorials of the Saviour's death which
you have somewhat too abruptly left. Return again to
the place where your Lord lay, — return even to the empty
sepulchre. Resume your meditations on that death which
you have so lately been commemorating. Place your-
selves once more in the position which you then occupied.
Pursue the studies, prosecute the inquiries, in which you
were then engaged. Go with Peter and his companion,
and the Magdalene — go anew to the tomb. Give your-
selves anew to devout thought respecting all the wondrous
issues of the decease which was accomplished at Jerusalem.
And, in prayer, and patience, and faith, await the clearer
discoveries that may be made to you, and the deeper im-
pressions under which you may be brought.

II. The second particular noticed by this evangelist, is
the visit of Peter and another disciple to the sepulchre.
That other disciple was John himself. The incident here
narrated is, in all its circumstances, peculiarly character-
istic. That the two brethren, on hearing the strange
tidings which Mary had to tell, should hasten to satisfy

284 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

themselves as to the real state of the case, was just what
might have been expected. That in running John should
outstrip Peter, was not surprising, if we consider both the
greater youth of John and the warm enthusiasm of his
love to Jesus. That Peter, again, though coming last to
the tomb, should be the first to enter in, is precisely in
accordance with his usual forwardness and the natural
impetuosity of his spirit : " Peter therefore went forth,
and that other disciple, and came to the sepulchre. So
they ran both together : and the other disciple did
outrun Peter, and came first to the sepulchre. And he,
stooping down, and looking in, saw the linen clothes
lying ; yet went he not in. Then cometh Simon Peter
following him, and went into the sepulchre, and seeth the
linen clothes lie, and the napkin, that was about his head,
not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in
a place by itself. Then went in also that other disciple,
which came first to the sepulchre, and he saw, and believed.
For as yet they knew not the scripture, that he must rise
again from the dead" (John xx. 3-9).

The beloved disciple bent down to examine the sepul-
chre. The body, it clearly enough appeared, was no
longer there. But a remarkable circumstance presented
itself. The linen clothes were lying — in decent order.
The body, then, had not been carried off by enemies;
for they could not have rifled the tomb without leai
some traces of violence. Neither had it been removed
friends — as by Joseph of Arimathea or by Nicodemi
intending to bury it in another place more deliberai
and more honourably than time permitted them to do

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 285

the evening on which he died ; for even in that case the
clothes would not have been left lying, since they would
have been needed wherever the body was taken. Here,
then, is a startling appearance meeting the eye of John.

He pauses. Is it in perplexity — in amazement? or
does a faint surmise, a supposition of the truth, come into
his mind ? Can it be ? The beloved disciple is filled
with awe, — he is profoundly moved, — and he stands as if
fixed and rooted to the spot. But his more eager and
practically energetic friend now joins him. At once, and
without hesitation, Peter proceeds to ascertain how the
matter stands. He enters, followed by John ; and they
find, on a closer and more careful examination, that in
very truth the clothes are so arranged as to preclude the
idea of the body having been removed by any human
hand. The inference immediately flashes upon them;
and now, at last, for the first time they understand " the
scripture, that he must rise again from the dead."

What a light then burst upon these followers of Jesus,
amid the darkness of their Master's silent and vacant
grave ! How must they have marvelled at their own
strange insensibility ! Awakened as from a trance, —
roused from the stupor of a dream, — they feel the scales
falling from their eyes and a new world opening to their
view. The resurrection of Jesus ! this, now that they
realize it, is a new idea, — and of how many new ideas
is it the source ! Strange that they should not have ap-
prehended it before. Is there not here the element of a
new life, — of new faith, — of new hope ?

And not the least remarkable feature in this process of

286 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE :

conviction and awakening is the fact, that it is wrought
without any extraordinary or miraculous interposition, —
by the simple contemplation of what might have been
regarded as an immaterial circumstance, or an unimportant
accident. There is no vision of angels granted to the two
apostles ; these heavenly attendants seem to have with-
drawn themselves while Peter and John were at the
sepulchre. They are not to receive direct intimation of
their Lord's having risen, from any divine messenger.
The Spirit of God needs not always such instrumentality.
By means far more insignificant, yet in his hands equally
effectual, he can enlighten and awaken men : and the
slightest incidental hint he can so impress upon the under-
standing, and so apply to the conscience, that it shall work
conviction as swift, and as sure, and as satisfying, as any
herald from the skies could do.

What is to hinder his working such conviction in you?
You may need it as much as did Peter and John. When
you came to deal with the memorials of your Lord's death,
you may have been, to all practical and spiritual purposes,
almost, if not altogether, as ignorant as they were. It is
true you knew the fact of the Lord's resurrection, and as
a matter of history you believed it. But as a matter of
doctrine, or as a matter of experience, did you understand,
did you apprehend, did you realize it? Did you per-
ceive all its bearings on the death which preceded it, and
on the glory which followed it ? — how it seals to you the
efficacy of that death as a full atonement for all your sins,
and opens to you the prospect of that glory as the ever-
lasting portion of your bodies and your souls ?

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 287

Come, see the place where your Lord lay ; see it as
reminding you that he is not here, — he is risen. That
which, at a communion-table, you might touch and tasfce
and handle as his body, is now gone ; the outward draper}-
which covered it is decently preserved, — the linen clothes,
as it were, are wrapped together and laid in an orderly
manner aside. Ah ! if you came at all with carnal and
worldly views, — seeking to honour Christ by any merely
bodily service, or to enjoy him in any merely sensible
way, — may you not now, by this token, be made to
know the scripture, that he must needs rise from the
dead, and that you must rise with him ? Seek no longer,
then, the living among the dead. Let your eyes and
your hearts be opened to the reality of his life, as well
as to the remembrance of his death ; and consider well
that it is with a living Saviour that you have now to
do. You are not merely to pay decent respect to his
death, — anointing, as it were, and honouring his body —
gratefully remembering his dying love — as a thing past
and gone, of which only the memorials are present. By
these very memorials, as lively signs and tokens, you
must be moved to enter into the meaning of his resurrec-
tion, as justifying you from all your iniquity, and raising
you to newness of life. Muse not merely on the death of
Christ — indulging those natural emotions of pity and
remorse which it is fitted to call forth, — nor think that,
when you have come to pay your tribute of homage at
his tomb, all is over, and you may either sit down dis-
consolate, or go back to the vain world again. No ; let
the empty sepulchre and the linen clothes lying — let the

288 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MABY MAGDALENE:

ordinances on earth, so soon found to be in themselves
vacant and formal — remind you that he is risen, that he
has broken the bands of spiritual death, and opened to
you the gates of eternal life. And let this thought revive
and reanimate your souls, dispel the vapours and the
gloom of ea,rth, and rouse you to the pursuit of heavenly
glory.

III. Thus instructed, " the disciples went away again
unto their own home" (ver. 10). But another mourner
still remains to be consoled ; for we return once more to
Mary Magdalene. She had followed Peter and John to
the tomb ; and, as they ran swiftly, she probably did not
reach it till they had gone away again unto their own
home. It is not likely, either that she was with them
at the sepulchre, or that she met them by the way on
their return ; else surely they would have imparted to her
some of their own reviving confidence. We are to re-
member in all this narrative, that between the sepulchre
and the city there must have been many different roads
and streets ; so that parties going and coming, especially
to and from different parts of the city, might easily miss
one another. So perhaps it happened in this instance.
Peter and John had left the sepulchre before Mary
reached it ; and she came without having encountered
them going to their own home.

Thus she found herself alone at the sepulchre; all
human counsel and human companionship seemed to li,i\v
tailed her. She stood without at the sepulchre weeping.
Now for the first time she stooped to look into the

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 289

sepulchre. The angels, guardians of the place where
Jesus lay, had returned to their post : " But Mary stood
without at the sepulchre weeping : and as she wept, she
stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, and seeth,
two angels in white sitting, the one at the head, and the
other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain " (ver.
11, 12). For while the apostles apparently were left to
judge for themselves, it was the women, — to whom, per-
haps on account of their deeper dejection and more lively
feeling of disappointment, such ministry was more neces-
sary,—it was the women, — first those whom Mary Mag-
dalene in her haste left at the tomb, and then Mary
Magdalene herself on her return to the tomb, — it was
the women, and not the apostles, who were favoured with
the sight and converse of angels.

These heavenly messengers, touched with Mary's sor-
row, tendered their sympathy, asking affectionately,
"Woman, why weepest thou?" She answers almost in
the very words which, she had addressed to Peter and
John, " Because they have taken away my Lord, and I
know not where they have laid him " (ver. 1 3).

Oh woman ! thy love is strong. The dead, the cru-
cified body of thy Lord — what wouldst thou give to see
it once more? To all whom thou meetest, to all who
find thee, thy language is still the same, " Saw ye him
whom my soul loveth?"

What follows is too simple and touching to admit of
comment: "And when she had thus said, she turned

herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not
T

290 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

that it was Jesus. Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why
weepest thou? whom seekest thou? She, supposing him
to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have
borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and
I will take him away. Jesus saith unto her, Mary.
She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which
is to say, Master" (ver. 14-16).

How blessed is this recognition! Mary, turning half
round from the tomb, se^s Jesus at first but indistinctly.
In the early dawn, and amid her blinding tears, she
merely perceives that a man is standing beside her.
* Absorbed in her own grief, she mechanically hears, and
answers the question of the stranger, naturally enough
imagining that it must be the gardener; for he alone
could be supposed to have business there at that early
hour. A single word dispels her sad stupor. Jesus
calls her by name, — " Mary;" and the well-known accents
of love reach her heart. Yes, it is her Lord; to whom
instinctively, as of old, she addresses the prompt reply
of recognition and loving devotion, " Rabboni, Master/'

Surely this Mary too, as well as the other Mary,
"highly favoured among women." Not an angel merely
but the Lord himself salutes her. To her first he
pears after he is risen — to her, out of whom he had
seven devils. And now, it might seem, her soul
found rest. Her mourning is turned into joy. She hi
found him whom her soul loveth. She will hold him,
and not let him go.

But stay, yet again there is another disappointinc

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 291

The Lord seems to put her away from him : " Jesus saith
unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to
my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them,
I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my
God, and your God" (ver. 17).

What can this mean? Is there any mystery here
connected with the nature of the Lord's risen body, as
if it were of too spiritual and ethereal a mould to be
pressed by mortal hand? Certainly the body of Jesus
was changed, as is plain from the manner in which, after
his resurrection, he appeared and disappeared, concealed
and revealed himself. But it was not so changed that
it might not be handled. It was his real body, consist-
ing of real flesh and bones. Jesus permitted the other
women, when he met them, to embrace him. Why,
then, did he say to Mary, "Touch me not?"

Surely he had some lesson to teach her. He was not
merely, as some say, in haste to dismiss her, that she
might carry his message to the disciples; nor did he
mean, as others suggest, to hurry her abruptly away,
with the assurance that she would have other oppor-
tunities of embracing him, because he was not yet
ascended. If this had been all that he intended, he might
have allowed time for so brief and simple an act of hom-
age and of love. There is more in his answer than any
such supposition implies. He is dealing with Mary as
a disciple; he has a lesson to teach her; he has an end
in view connected with her peace and her holiness. In a
word, he has to reconcile her to the idea of his ascension :
" Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father."

292 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

For that idea is new to her. Mary, like the other
disciples, when she admitted the thought of the Lord
having come back to life, seems at once to have rushed
to the conclusion that he was come back permanently
to remain, — that he was now to abide among them, and
to fulfil at last all their expectations. It was probably
under this impression that the apostles afterwards put
to him the question, " Lord, wilt thou at this time re-
store again the kingdom to Israel?" (Acts i. 6.) Mary,
we may well believe, did not care so much for the tem-
poral glories of the kingdom whose establishment they
then expected. But she did care for the actual pre-
sence of her Beloved upon earth. Before his death,
she had begun to understand that the Messiah must
needs go away and come again. Well, he has been
absent three days, and that in her estimation is long
enough. He had gone, and he now comes again. The
necessary separation is over. Now she may embn
and cling to him, to be parted from him no more.

Nay, but, O woman! that time is not yet come,
will come. Thy Redeemer liveth, and will stand at
latter day upon the earth, — and in thy flesh thou sb*
see God. Then thou shalt hold thy Beloved in thii
arms; then thou shalt welcome and embrace bim;-
then thou shalt be for ever with the Lord.

But touch him not now. Hold him not, as if the
wouldst detain him. This is not that final and permi
nent return of which he spoke, when he assured his fc
lowers that he would come again to receive them
himself. This is but a flying visit — a passing call.

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 293

is on his way to heaven. Suffer him to go. If thou
lovest him, rejoice that he goes to his Father.

Yes, however hard it may seem to flesh and blood to
be thus tantalized with but a glimpse of him whom thy
soul loveth, and whom thine arms would fain grasp in an
indissoluble embrace, thou mayst suffer him to depart.
For hear the gracious message, which, in reference to his
departure, he leaves for his disciples — "But go to my
brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father,
and your Father ; and to my God, and your God" (ver.
1 7). He calls them his brethren. He is not ashamed to
call them brethren, to associate with himself the children
whom God hath given him. They are God's dear children
now, and his brethren beloved. And He to whom now he
is ascending is their Father, as well as his Father, — their
God, as well as his God.

Ah ! well may the Lord's disciples consent, on such a
footing as this, to forego for a little longer the joy of his
personal presence with them. Earth would indeed be a
desert without him, could they think that he had utterly
forsaken them. If they had neither his dead body, on
which they might lavish the tears and the pledges of a
fond but vain remembrance, nor his living eye to smile
on them, and his living voice to cheer them, — and if he
were gone to an unknown region and a land of strangers,
— they might be desolate indeed. But he is gone to his
Father's house, where there is room enough for them; and
his Father is now their Father, — his God is their God.
He must be absent from them for a season ; but it is to be
with One who is now no stranger to them, — and it is to

294 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE:

be with Him on their behalf. It is to plead their cause,
and prepare a place for them ; it is to send the Holy Spirit,
the Comforter, and to rule over all for their good. He
ascends, and even his brethren cannot hope to keep him
here; but he ascends to his Father, and their Father, — to
his God, and their God.

Let us ponder the sayings of the angels and of our Lord
himself.

1. Come see the place where the Lord lay. Come
again, if ye have come before. Visit the holy sepulchre ; —
•not in the spirit of carnal superstition^ — not in the in-
dulgence of merely natural feelings, — not seeking either
to excite or to express your devotion by any merely out-
ward service, however touching and tender as a remem-
brance of him. No ! In that case you will be apt to
turn unsatisfied away. You find not the Lord's body.
Still come and see where it lay ; and think why it lay
there once, and why it lies there no more. See here, in
the very void and emptiness of the sepulchre, and of
every earthly memorial of it, — the proof and pledge of
sin atoned for, and death overcome. He who bore your
guilt, and lay in that grave in your stead, could not be
detained a prisoner there. He is risen, and you in him
are now free.

2. He is risen, and he will meet you, as he said. He
will manifest himself unto you in another way than
doth unto the world. He will come to you, as you weep
over his death. "He goeth before you into Galilee/'
Yes, believers, your Lord will continue to be known to

WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE. 295

you, and your fellowship will be with him. He will find
opportunities of communicating with you, not only beside
the sepulchre, where in holy retirement you muse and
mourn ; but in Galilee, amid the ordinary scenes of your
daily avocations, — when you return again to your houses
and your labour, to your fields and to your nets, — Jesus
will be with you. He will be known to you in the
breaking of your common bread. He will be known to
you in the blessing he bestows on your common toil.
He will be known to you as he opens up the Scriptures,
which are your daily meditation. He will be known to
you as you sit in the secret chamber and walk on the
high way. Be sure that Jesus is often near you, when
your eyes are holden that you do not recognise him ;
for do not your hearts burn within you as he talks with
you? and may you not often have cause to say with
Jacob, " Surely the Lord is in this place and I knew it
not?"

3. Finally, While you prize these precious interviews,
and ask to have them multiplied, — while you rejoice to
believe tha-t your Lord is always with you, even to the
end of the world, — still remember that you embrace him
not now as if this were your rest, or as if it were the
consummation of your blessed union and communion with
him. You may hope to recognise him as often near you
upon earth ; but remember he ascends to his Father, and
your Father ; to his God, and your God. There, in his
Father's house, seek even now in the Spirit to have your
fellowship with him. Let your life be hid with Christ
in God. Your treasure is in heaven, let your heart be

296 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS MARY MAGDALENE.

there also ; and rejoice in all that he is doing for your
welfare, and for the salvation of all his people. Above
all, wait for his coming again, — his final return to receive
you to himself, when all the purposes of his ascension
are fulfilled, and all is made ready in his Father's house
for you. Then your embrace of him will be for ever; for
there is no farther separation after that.

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 297

XVII.

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN.

PONTIUS PILATE JUDGING THE LORD CHRIST.

JOHN xviii. 28 — xix. 16; LUKE xxiii.; MATTHEW xxvii.

THE character of Pilate, as it is brought out in the scene
of our Lord's trial, is an interesting study to those who
would trace the workings of natural conscience when it
is brought into closer contact than usual with the truth
of God, or with Him who is the truth. We see, indeed,
little or no evidence of any saving, or even of any deeply
serious impression. But we see emotions of natural pity ;
and we see more, — we see the convictions and relentings,
the compunction and hesitation, of a natural sense of
duty, and a natural feeling of remorse. He went farther,
indeed, in this way than most of the other princes of this
world who, in their official capacity, had to deal, not
merely with the religion of Jesus (which is the common
case now), but with Jesus himself. Herod of Galilee,
who had been first the Baptist's patron and then his
persecutor, for a long time desired to see Jesus ; but when
his desire was gratified, and Jesus, sent by Pilate, stood
before him on his trial, the crafty "fox" evaded the
question, and having carelessly insulted the Saviour, as
carelessly dismissed him. Felix, when Paul, arraigned
as the prisoner, stood as the preacher before him, and

298 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment
come — trembled ; but he sent him away till a mo:
convenient season. Agrippa, partly perhaps in courtl;
compliment to the unrivalled eloquence of the defence
which he listened, partly in sincere admiration of the i
spired pleader, and partly also under a real impression
there being more in his theme than he had before imagin
avowed himself almost persuaded to be a Christian. B
the workings of the mind of Pilate were surely deeper,
at least the history gives us a deeper insight into the
There is so much of apparent honesty in the conflict
his soul, between his own evident reluctance to be in
mental in so foul a deed, and the unrelenting importuni
of those who cruelly practised on his weakness, that
cannot refuse our compassion, and we almost yield o
sympathy. And, on the other hand, in what he saw
the holy and awful majesty of the Lord Jesus, and in the
solemn words which he heard from his lips, as once and
again, nay repeatedly, he conferred with him face to face,
away from the clamours of his Jewish accusers, in h
own private hall of audience, there is so close and coge
an application of the divine word, in circumstances t
most intensely affecting, to his whole moral nature, tl
we cannot but regard it as one of the most remarka
cases on record of the Spirit of the Lord striving wi
man.

What sort of man, either as an individual or as
governor, Pilate was, we have scarcely any means o:
determining. Other historians, whether Jewish or Gentile
say very little either of his pei-sonal character or of his

THE SPIKIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 299

public administration; and, beyond their narrative of our
Lord's trial before him, the sacred writers mention only
one particular regarding him. In the Gospel by Luke
(xiii. 1), allusion is made to his having perpetrated an
act of cruelty on some Galileans, who, it is probable,
having come up to Jerusalem to worship at one of the
festivals, were slain by his orders in the very midst of the
solemnity, so that their blood was mingled with their
sacrifices. This severity may have been inflicted on some
pretence of -t- tumult or of political disaffection ; for the
Roman governors were jealous, and not without reason,
of the great concourse of strangers from the country
districts at such seasons to Jerusalem; and in particular,
they had some cause to suspect the natives of Galilee of
an inclination to be turbulent 'and seditious. Perhaps
also the misunderstanding which, as we learn from sub-
sequent events, prevailed between himself and Herod, by
whom, as king or tetrarch, Galilee was then ruled, might
make Pilate willing enough to take an opportunity of
wreaking his vengeance on the subjects of his rival when
they happened to come within his own government ;
although it is quite as probable that this veiy act of
violence may have been itself the cause and not the
consequence of the quarrel. It is said that on other
occasions, both in Judea and in Samaria, Pilate com-
mitted great cruelties ; and it is certain that he was a
man who, in enforcing his authority and prosecuting his
ends, held human life very cheap, and made no scruple
of recklessly causing blood on a large scale to be shed.
Still there is no appearance of his having been wantonly

300 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

cruel, either as a man or as a governor ; nor even of his
having been particularly oppressive or unjust. Most
probably, indeed, he was very much like the other
governors of the Boman provinces in those days, who,
being for the most part noblemen of high rank and
family, but of scanty or ruined fortunes, looked to such
provincial appointments as means of retrieving or im-
proving their affairs, and expected to enrich themselves
by the spoils of the countries which they governed. Hence
fines and favours, exactions and extortions $>f all kinds,
formed an ordinary part of their administration, insomuch
that it turned very much on the length of time during
which a governor held office, at what rate the province
should be pillaged. Frequent changes aggravated the
evil; for each governor, ruling for a short period, must
make the most of it for the purpose of satiating his
rapacity ; and the only chance of milder treatment lay in
the lengthening of the period, so as to spread the demand
over a greater number of years. So completely was the
system understood, that in the case of this very Pilate
and his predecessor in the government, the Emperor
Tiberius is said sarcastically to have assigned this vei
reason for making their tenure of office longer than
previously been the custom. Pilate, therefore, we may
well believe, was not better in these respects — in respect
of cruelty and rapacity — than the ordinary class of Roman
governors of the day. Nor was he worse. The fact of
its having fallen to him to judge our Lord, and of his
having actually caused him to be crucified, is apt to leave
on our minds an impression of this nature. Strongly

!

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 301

condemning his treatment of the Saviour, we form
exaggerated notions of the injustice and blood-thirstiness
of his character, and conclude that he must have been a
very monster so to deal with the Holy One. In this way
the lesson which his conduct is fitted to teach is rendered
far less pointed and profitable than it might be. It is
not unlikely, that in the very trying predicament in which
he found himself placed, Pilate acted better, and evinced
more sensibility of heart and conscience, than the great
majority of his compeers would have done ; and more-
over, it is not unlikely that in his circumstances some of
us would have acted worse.

For, consider the position of Pilate when brought into
contact with Jesus. He was a Roman, probably of good
family ; a soldier and senator of considerable rank, and
accustomed to move in the best society. The tone of
such society was not favourable to serious thought. It
was abundantly frivolous and dissipated. The showy
accomplishments and refinements of a luxurious age
accorded well with the light spirit of the liberal and
sceptical philosophy which was then in vogue. The
ancient sternness and simplicity of the republican manners
had been relaxed ; the ancient depth and devout earnest-
ness of character had given place to a shallow and flippant
way of evading all grave consideration and decision of
choice, and making light equally of all things. Trained
in such a school, in the camp and at the court, a noble
Roman might enter life, whether as a man of ambition or
as a man of pleasure, with little fixed principle of any
kind, — with little habit and little capacity of deep re-

302 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

flection, — with a sort of gay and easy indifference of
temper, likely enough to waft him buoyant over the
waves of fortune, but giving him no hold of the element
through which a more solid mind would pursue a
steadier and more commanding course.

After passing the ordinary novitiate and routine either
of fashionable idleness or of military parade (for the times
were peaceful), or of perfunctory attendance on the forms
of some civil or political calling, such a man might retire,
for a season, to the government of a remote province,
with whose people, having no connection, he could have
no sympathy — and of whose real interests, having little
knowledge, he had still less care. There, living in digni-
fied ease, and invested with very absolute and discretionary
power, — living, too, never as if he were at home, but
always as an exile expecting to be recalled, — he has
every inducement to abandon himself to his own pleasure
or his own profit, giving himself scarcely any real con-
cern about what may be passing around him. Thus, if
not tyrannical, he is very apt to prove like Gallic, gover-
nor of Achaia, who, when the whole city of Corinth was
excited and convulsed by the agitation of religious con-
troversy, took the matter very easily, and cared for n<
of these things.

Such, probably, might be Pilate's state of mind wh
sitting quietly in his palace, he heard of the strange p
ceedings of that memorable paschal-week. And as tidi
reached him of a singular procession, of one sitting on an
ass, and attended by a countless throng, entering the city
and the temple, like a moving forest of waving palms,

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 303

amid shouts that filled the air; and again, as rumours
circulated through his court of a remarkable commotion,
first among the Jewish multitude resorting daily in crowds
to the temple to see and hear this extraordinary person,
and then among the Jewish authorities, all alive and on
the alert respecting him ; and still further, as the news of
this mysterious individual being arrested, and the hasty
convening of the Sanhedrim, and the hurried trial and
condemnation before that tribunal, and the feverish ex-
citement of the public mind which the affair was creating ;
— as the news of these things passed around the circle of
his attendants, the haughty Roman might listen with an
air of real or affected unconcern, as to a mere idle breath
of popular folly ; and dwelling apart, as in some higher
region of imperturbable repose, he might calmly put the
subject away from him as beneath or beyond his notice ; he
might even find materials of courtly and philosophic pleas-
antry in what was turning the Jewish world upside down.
If so, he must have been somewhat startled when,
most unexpectedly, the cause was suddenly transferred to
his own judgment-seat, and the whole case brought under
his own immediate cognisance. He must now entertain
and dispose of a question which otherwise he might have
regarded as altogether out of his way. He must meet
with this Jewish teacher, who might be supposed to
belong to an entirely different sphere from his own, and
enter on a discussion which in his ordinary manner of
life he would have little dreamed of. It is a somewhat
strange position into which this great man is abruptly
brought ; and it is most interesting to observe how, in

lout

.,

ocal

304* SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

that position, he conducts himself. From the very outset
he is embarrassed and uncomfortable, and all throughout
the trial he makes successive attempts to evade
decision of the matter.

But before proceeding further, let us adjust the 1
scenery of this most tragic drama.

When the Jewish leaders brought Jesus to Pilate
(John xviii. 28) they would not enter his house. They
were at that time eating the passover ; — that is, they
were keeping the paschal-feast ; for the expression is to
be understood not merely of the first act of the solemnity
- — their killing and eating the paschal-lamb, which in the
present case was probably over — but of all the subsequent
rites and observances during the days of unleavened bread.
That they might thus keep the feast acceptably, they
must scrupulously, as they believed, abstain during the
whole course of it, and especially on the day of prepara-
tion for the Sabbath, which this was, from going into a
heathen dwelling, and so contracting defilement. In
compliance with their scruples, however frivolous and
superstitious he might think them, Pilate went out to
them to the palace-gate, where, according to eastern cus-
tom, was his public seat of audience (chap. xix. 1 3).
There, during the whole of this transaction, he conducted
his intercourse with the Jews ; but from time to time he
took Jesus himself into his own house, or inner hall of
judgment, for the purpose of more private trial and exa-
mination (chap, xviii. 33 ; xix. 9). It is necessary to
bear this in memory, in attempting to bring before the
mind's eye the several incidents of the trial.

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. SO 5

I. Meeting the Jews, then, at the door of his palace,
Pilate asks what accusation they bring against the man
whom they have in custody ; and at first he will scarcely
attend to the accusers. ' He is a malefactor, you say,
else you would not have brought him here (chap, xviii.
30, 31). Be it so. It is some ordinary case of crime,
some religious contention, or some breach of the peace,
such as are now become too common for me to be trou-
bled with them all. Decide it yourselves. " Take ye
him, and judge him according to your law ;" I give you
full authority and warrant.'

Pilate, however, is not to get so easily off. This is a
more serious matter than he thinks. ' It is a capital
oifence with which this criminal is charged, and " it is
not lawful for us to put any man to death "' (ver. 31).
His crime is treason against Csesar, and Caesar 's deputy
must look to it : " We found this fellow perverting the
nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Csesar, saying
that he himself is Christ a king" (Luke xxiii. 2). Pilate,
therefore, has no alternative ; he must look into the accu-
sation. He takes Jesus, accordingly, into the inner judg-
ment-hall in his palace, thinking probably that a very
short inquiry will suffice. And here first the barbed
arrow enters his heart, which is to sink deep and remain
fast, — the wound rankling and festering till it proves
mortal.

If this man takes the title of King of the Jews, as his
accusers allege, brief work may be made of his case. And
he does acknowledge the title ; but then he adds an ex-
planation which opens up an entirely new view of the
u

306 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

affair. He is a king ; but his kingdom is not of this
world. It does not therefore interfere with Caesar's (John
xviii. 33-36). The Jews who accused him knew, or
might have known, this ; but they did not choose to
make it known to Pilate, for it was necessary for their
purpose that Jesus should be charged before Pilate with
a political crime. Hence they did not bring him to
Pilate's bar as a blasphemer, in which character they
themselves, in their own spiritual court, had previously
tried and condemned him. They were well aware that
Pilate, a Gentile and an unbeliever, would not, as a civil
magistrate, have dealt with that offence ; at least not in
that view of it which their religion might suggest. They
accused Jesus, therefore, as a rebel and traitor, as claiming
for himself royal rights and honours, and denying them
to Caesar, the Roman emperor, whose authority Pilate
must uphold. Nor would it have served their end to say,
that he made himself a king in any spiritual or religious
sense. They would have Pilate to believe that he sought
political power inconsistent with that of Caesar. Jesus
at once, and simply, removes this impression. There is
no cause of alarm. He asserts no authority which can
at all interfere with that of any lawful earthly gov
ment.

But, at the same time, he does assert an authority of
a high and sacred character, and in a way which seems
to strike his judge (ver. 37). " Thou art a king then?"
" I am," is the Lord's reply ; " and I am more — I am a
witness unto the truth." "What is truth?" says Pilate,
— -jesting, perhaps, and not waiting for an answer,

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 307

thinking by a jest to turn away the appeal which has
already come too closely home to him. Now, he would
fain persuade himself, he sees how the case stands. ' This
is one of your sages, your contemplative dreamers, not
made for this world, as this world is not made for them.
He has got hold of some fragments of our wildest and
most unearthly philosophy — a visionary king — himself
his only kingdom — enamoured of some fond fancy which
he chooses to call the truth ! It might be curious, in
some idle hour, to settle with him what this same truth
may be. Meanwhile, he must be acquitted of any grave
offence ; at the least, he is clearly harmless. " I find in
him no fault at all." '

Nay, but, 0 vain man ! this business is not so quickly
or so cleverly managed as thou, in thy ingenious wit, art
inclined to think. There is more in it than thou art
likely soon to reach the end of. Thou hast seen for once
another kind of sovereign than any thou hast hitherto
met with. Thou hast heard of truth in a way not fami-
liar. He who hath spoken to thee hath spoken as a
king, — as one having authority ; and, as one having
authority, he hath proclaimed to thee that he witnesses
to a truth, — to the truth. Yes, to thee, a careless, un-
fixed self-seeker — to thee, who hast neither reverence nor
faith, one has appeared who claims authority, and bears
witness to the truth ; and thou canst not easily rid thy-
self of the surmise that it may be authority of which
thou shouldst stand in awe, — that it may be truth which
thou shouldst believe. Thou art brought into contact
with things more serious than, in thy frivolous intercourse

308 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

with a world of vain lies, thou hast been accustomed to
deal with. Thou must have more to do with this same
mysterious stranger, whom thou wouldst so summarily
dismiss with a hasty and half contemptuous admission of
his harmlessness.

The subsequent conduct of Pilate exhibits a melancholy
picture. Whatever air of light-hearted levity he may
assume or affect, and however he may try, in his rejoinder
to the Lord, to turn the edge of the Spirit's sword, — the
quick and powerful word so authoritatively spoken by
Him whose word it is, — we see plainly that he is not at
his ease. To this extent, at least, he is now evidently
in earnest, that he is most anxious to rescue Jesus out of
the hands of his accusers. And the very anxiety of the
Jews to obtain his blood only increases Pilate's desire to
save him. He perceives that there is, that there must
be, some high interest at stake, else these formal hypo-
crites would not be so eager and zealous in the matter.
* They are not in general such warm friends of Caesar and
of Caesar's power, these rulers of the Jews. They are
not commonly so sensitive in regard to treason against
the emperor as to persist in an accusation so evidently
groundless as this. There must be more at the bottom of
this affair than at first sight appears/ Thus from the very
beginning of this strange trial, and all throughout, more
and more, the pertinacity of the Jews tends to deepen the
impression made on Pilate's mind, increases his concern,
and makes him the more impatient for an adjustment.

IL When therefore the Jews, instead of acquiescing

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 309

his judgment of acquittal, reiterated the more impetuously
their charge against Jesus as seditious, and by way of
aggravation, referring to the extent of the mischief, spoke
of his labours in Galilee, — " And they were the more
fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people, teaching through-
out all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place" (Luke
xxiii. 5), — Pilate eagerly catches the hint. He will send
the case to Herod, within whose jurisdiction Galilee lies,
and, fortunately, Herod happens to be at this time in
Jerusalem : " When Pilate heard of Galilee, he asked
whether the man were a Galilean. And as soon as he
knew that he belonged unto Herod's jurisdiction, he sent
him to Herod, who himself also was at Jerusalem at that
time" (Luke xxiii. 6, 7). If there is any truth in the
charge brought against Jesus as a subverter of the govern-
ment, it is plainly in Galilee, the ordinary place of his
ministrations, that the offence must have been chiefly
committed, and not in Judea, which he has only occa-
sionally visited. It belongs therefore to Herod, as tetrarch
of Galilee, ruling that province under Csesar, to deal with
this rival king ; — and the rather because he knows such
cases of old, having once been the admirer and follower
of just such a prophet, — his friend and patron, entertain-
ing him at his court, — his devoted disciple, hearing him
gladly.

Thus Pilate thought that he might evade the necessity
of coming to a decision in regard to Jesus and his claims.
' Let Herod be the judge ; send the case, by all means, to
Herod; he is on all accounts the proper person to dispose
of it/

310 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

But this expedient will not stand Pilate in stead. It
is to prove a more troublesome business than he could
have imagined, and he cannot easily divest himself of
the responsibility connected with it. Jesus comes back
to him, scourged, indeed, and buffeted, but not judged, —
neither absolved nor condemned. Herod mocks him and
sets him at nought : " And Herod with his men of war
set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in
a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate" (Luke
xxiii. 11). But not in that way is the question to be
set at rest. The cause is still undetermined, and Pilate
has to determine it.

What, then, is to be done? The Jews will not be
satisfied. They insist on a sentence. It avails not to
tell them that neither Pilate nor Herod finds in Jesus any
fault worthy of death. Will Pilate then at once dis-
charge him, and so run the risk of being represented to
the Roman emperor as shielding a traitor to his power?
or will he give him up, notwithstanding his impression of
his innocence, to the doom of a convicted malefactor?

But yesterday, and in any other case, it would pro-
bably have cost Pilate scarce a moment's thought to decide
on this latter alternative, and sacrifice an individual,
however guiltless, to his own interests and the interests
of his imperial master's authority. And even now, per-
haps, he wonders at his own weakness. Whence this
unwonted hesitation, these unprecedented scruples, in his
mind? This is not the first instance, probably, in which
he has been called upon to propitiate supporters, and to
secure himself, by giving up an unconvicted man as a

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 311

victim to his enemies, and justifying the doubtful step
by reasons of state, thus making to himself friends not
only of the Mammon, but of the Moloch, of unrighteous-
ness. Why should he be so sensitive now? Can it be
that this extraordinary criminal at the bar has virtually
changed places with the judge, and marvellously gained
an ascendency over him as his king, and cited and sisted
him at a higher bar as a witness of the truth to his con-
science? Then why does Pilate not avow and follow out
his convictions, whithersoever they may lead? Why, at
least, does he not do justice to him in whom he finds no
fault? Alas! he will attempt another compromise. He
sees a way, as he fondly thinks, by which, without com-
mitting himself, he may deliver Jesus.

III. Resuming his place at the palace gate, amid much
most painful perplexity — perplexity increased by the re-
markable warning given him by his wife, who sent to
him, saying, " Have thou nothing to do with that just
man; for I have suffered many things this day in a
dream because of him" (Matt, xxvii. 19); thus divided
and distracted between his own and his wife's conscien-
tious feelings and apprehensions on the one hand, and
the unrelenting and persevering importunity of the Jews
on the other, Pilate bethinks himself of an expedient.
He will take advantage of the custom of the feast to re-
lease a prisoner, and that prisoner shall be Jesus; " Ye
have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth
the people; and, behold, I, having examined him before
you, have found no fault in this man touching those

312 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

things whereof ye accuse him : no, nor yet Herod : for I
sent you to him/' He proposes therefore to " chastise
him, and release him." For he adds, " Ye have a custom,
that I should release unto you one at the passover: will
ye therefore that I release unto you. the King of the
Jews?" (Luke xxiii. 13-17; John xviii. 39.)

Thus Pilate thinks to avoid the necessity of pronouncing
judgment, and yet save Jesus. The Jews shall not have
it in their power to say that he has acquitted a traitor.
It is not to be a judicial sentence at all, but an act of
grace and favour, — the deliverance of a prisoner, cus-
tomary at the season; on which, therefore, no imputa-
tion against his loyalty and fidelity in his government
can be fairly or even plausibly founded. Thus there
may be a sort of compromise between him and the Jews,
and, instead of a judgment offending or endangering
either part}^, there may be a measure of neutrality.

Miserable expedient ! Most shallow device ! Even
this discretionary exercise of authority he cannot venture
upon without consulting the Jews. They must have a
choice, and they can compel him to consent to it. And
though he selects one of the worst and most atrocious
criminals then in custody, to be offered to them along
with Jesus ; and though, as Luke tells us, he three suc-
cessive times most earnestly and pathetically beseeches
the people to choose Jesus ; he has the deep mortification
of hearing their reiterated and impatient cry, " Not this
man, but Barabbas," although " Barabbas was a robber"
(John xviil 39, 40).

What is it that has come over the spirit of this Pilate,

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 313

usually stern and decided enough in every act of his ad-
ministration ? If his leanings are really toward Jesus,
why does he not think, why does he not act for himself !
Is he ashamed — is he afraid to speak out ? And does he
really imagine that he clears himself from the guilt of
partaking in this great sin of other men, by the pitiful
ceremony of the washing of his hands, and the hollow
protest of his lips, "I am innocent," — he who had but
to raise one finger of these hands, or to utter one breath
of these lips, and not a single stroke would have fallen
upon Jesus, not a hair of his head would have been
touched ?

Yet it is a characteristic circumstance this washing of
his hands. It brings out in marked contrast the weak-
ness of the judge and the violence of the accusers ; and it
throws light on the brief struggle that follows : " And
the governor said, Why. what evil hath he done? But
they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified.
When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that
rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed
his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of
the blood of this just person : see ye to it. Then an-
swered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and
on our children" (Matt, xxvii. 23-25).

IY. Weary of resistance, Pilate seems reluctantly to
have given over Jesus to be scourged, perhaps with some
faint hope that this preliminary severity, which, according
to the barbarous custom of that time, preceded the punish-
ment of death, might satiate the cruelty of his persecutors;

314 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

and that the people, moved by the spectacle of suffering
and shame, might yet relent, and interpose to save him
from the cross : " Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and
scourged him. And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns,
and put it on his head, and they put on him a purple
robe, and said, Hail, King of the Jews ! and they smote
him with their hands. Pilate therefore went forth again,
and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you,
that ye may know that I find no fault in him. Then
came Jesus forth wearing the crown of thorns, and the
purple robe. And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the
man I" (John xix. 1-5.)

The concession only stimulated the fury of his adver-
saries. So far from being melted to pity by an exhibition
which Pilate might think enough to soften the very stones,
the Jews were provoked the more by these repeated
delays ; and the sight of blood, streaming from under
the crown of thorns down that holy head, served but to
whet their appetite for more. " Behold the man ! " says
Pilate, pointing to that scourged and bleeding sufferer,
whose meek endurance might have disarmed the very
wrath of devils ! But all the more " the chief priests
and officers cried out, Crucify him, crucify him" (John
xix. 6).

And now, perceiving clearly the sort of man with whom
they had to deal — emboldened by Pilate's evident distress,
and presuming on his irresolution, the Jews lay aside all
disguise and press at once to their point. They no longer
consider it necessary to keep up so much as the form of
an accusation of treason. They avow the real cause of

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 315

their hostility. Not even professing to submit to Pilate's
judgment, they seem to reckon confidently on his accom-
modating himself to theirs. Seeing that he has not firm-
ness to decide according to his own views, they gather
courage, and require him broadly and nakedly to decide
according to theirs : " The Jews answered him, We have
a law, and by our law he ought to die, because he made
himself the Son of God " (John xix. 7).

V. But they had well-nigh overshot the mark. The
expression which they let fall renewed all Pilate's scruples,
and once more shook his purpose — " He made himself the
Son of God." ' Made himself ! Can it be that he really
is so ? It may be, then' — as Pilate from the first could
not help surmising — 'that this Jesus has authority, and
witnesses truth/ He has the authority of God ; he
witnesses the truth of God ; for he is the Son of God.
He said so. These Jews now tell Pilate that he said so;
and they let out that it was because he said so that they
hated and would crucify him. It turns out that their
pretence of jealousy about Caesar's prerogative is but
a blind and false colour. Something far more awful is
here really involved. Pilate sees this clearly now; and,
seeing it, may he not even now stop short and retrace his
steps? As it is, he once more pauses and resumes his
examination.

0 that he had but given fair play to his own convic-
tions ! — he might even yet have been saved and blessed.
He has another precious opportunity. Once more, away
from all Jewish clamours, in the inner hall of judgment,

316 SCKIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

the judge confers with his prisoner. Jesus " is led as a
lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers
is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth." " When Pilate
therefore heard that saying, he was the more afraid ;
and went again into the judgment hall, and saith unto
Jesus, Whence art thou ? But Jesus gave him no answer "
(John xix. 8, 9). His silence is the silence, not of dis-
respect, but of awful, divine authority. He has met
the charge already brought against him. He has ex-
plained what might give rise to the accusation of trea-
son ; and, in doing so, he has said enough to deter-
mine Pilate's decision, and Pilate is bound to decide.
This new question, so earnestly put, is not necessary or
relevant ; it is not to the point, it is not to the pur-
pose. "Whence art thou?" asks the trembling Roman
— ' Whence art thou, that thou shouldst make thyself the
Son of God?'

Dost thou ask this, 0 Pilate ! as an inquirer ? Wilt
thou also be his disciple ? If so, thou shalt not long be
at a loss for an answer. Thou art not far from one even
now. It is in thy heart already, if out of thy heart thou
wouldst allow thy mouth to speak.

Meanwhile thy function as judge is not yet discharged.
There is a case before thee to be disposed of, and there
are all the elements for disposing of it Do justice ac-
cording to the dictates of thine own conscience, not
according to the prejudices and passions of others. Till
then Jesus is silent

Vexed by this silence, and provoked perhaps by the
calm demeanour of the Lord, contrasting so painfully

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 31 7

with his own agitation, Pilate suffers one flash of his
natural impatience and the insolence of office to escape
him, in a scene which has hitherto overawed him. He
reminds the prisoner of his power over him, — a power
which, though subordinate to that of the emperor, was
practically, in such cases and in that distant province,
absolute and arbitrary : " Speakest thou not unto me ?
knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee, and
have power to release thee?" (John xix. 10.) It is an
unworthy taunt against one in whom he himself acknow-
ledges that he can find no fault. It marks a secret mis-
giving in regard to the equity of his procedure. Conscious
of having no other ground to stand upon, he takes refuge
in the last and worst argument of cowardly tyranny, —
the argument of mere power.

Alas ! this too is but a refuge of lies. There is no
escaping from the searching glance of one who seems to
pierce his very soul Infatuated man ! this power of
which thou makest a boast, however practically irre-
sponsible in so far as thy master on earth, the emperor,
is concerned, is not so in reality. It is given thee from
above, — it is of God. And wilt thou use it after thine
own pleasure, when it is the Son of God, as thou hast
reason to fear, who stands before thee ? 'The sin of
those who delivered me to thee is aggravated tenfold by
their seeking thus to turn against the cause of God and
his Son the very power that is ordained of God. Thy
sin will not be the less if thou art moved to yield to their
importunity. " Thou couldest have no power at all against
me, except it were given thee from above : therefore he

318 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin"' (John
xix. 11).*

But yield, after all, he did ; although to the last — all
the more after this closing interview — he would fain have
delivered his prisoner. " From henceforth," more than
ever, " Pilate sought to release him : but the Jews cried
out, If thou let him go, thou art not Caesar's friend"
(John xix. 1 2). The struggle becomes more desperate as
it draws near its close. The claim of Jesus — his claim
of sovereignty as a king, of truth as a witness, and now
even of divinity as the Son of God — is pressing closer and
closer on the conscience. But, alas ! alas ! the loud cry
prevails, " If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar's
friend."

Ah ! it had been well for Pilate if, at this eleventh
hour, in this final crisis of his mental struggle, the Lord's
appeal to his tremendous responsibility, as having no
power but from above, had been effectual to make him
feel that he had no discretion, — that he was shut up to
the necessity of deciding for Jesus, and owning him as
the King, the true Witness, the Son of God It had been
still better if, at the very first, when the idea of sove-
reignty and of truth, as not fictions but realities, took
hold of his mind, he had learned to stand in awe, that he
might not sin, — to believe, that he might be saved. If
there be ground for the vague rumours of history, he had
but little ease or peace in his future life, which he him-
self, it is said, in disgrace and in exile, terminated by a

* See Appendix.

THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN. 319

voluntary death. It is a solemn reflection to think how
near the vacillating judge, the despairing suicide, may
once have been to a believer. It is a most emphatic
warning to all, to trifle with no convictions of their own,
to yield to no solicitations of others, to let the word of
God have free course in their hearts, and to offer no re-
sistance to the strivings of his good Spirit.

320 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

XVIII.
THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET.

PONTIUS PILATE DEALING WITH THE JEWS.

JOHN xix. 13-37-

THE fatal tragedy in which Pilate bears so sad a part,
has what we might almost call an after-piece, in his sub-
sequent intercourse with those to whom at last he has
made up his mind to give way. Altogether, it is, if I
may say so, a strange game throughout that we see car-
ried on between Pilate and the Jews, — between the half-
awakened conscientiousness of the governor and the un-
scrupulous ferocity of the Pharisees. They are well
matched in this trial of strength or skill. They are
nearly balanced, mutually seeking to overbear or to
overreach one another ; and were it not that the subject
of contention is so solemn, and the issue so serious, a
discerning by-stander might almost smile as he looks
on. At first the Pharisees have greatly the best of
it. Their remorseless and unrelenting bigotry gives
them an advantage over the vacillating Roman, who,
however irreligious, has still some sense of honour and
some feelings of compassion. Accordingly they press
hard upon him. They drive him from one point of de-
fence to another. They carry in succession the several
outposts at which he would gladly rally and make a

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIK OWN NET. 321

stand. They beat up his refuges and lurking-places,
where he vainly tries to evade them, till at last they
shut him up in a corner, and he is fain to capitulate, or
rather surrender at discretion. But now it is his turn
to make reprisals upon them. He has his revenge; he
has the satisfaction of a certain kind of retaliation.
And if they insolently exult in having made a tool of
him, he may at least enjoy, if he can, the triumph of
seeing them also sufficiently degraded ; for at a cer-
tain stage the parts are reversed. These Jews, however
hardened and hackneyed in their trade of hypocrisy,
have yet, as well as Pilate, their tender point, at which
they may be made to feel sore. They, too, have their
scruples — not quite so honest or generous as those of
Pilate, but as sensitive when touched or trenched upon;
and Pilate, their new ally and confederate, having as
little sympathy with their scruples as they had with his,
has now the upper hand, and may, if he pleases, gratify
himself by tantalizing and tormenting them.

It may not be unprofitable to mark an instance or
two of this strange and sad cross-fire — illustrating the
vulgar proverb of the biter bit ; or, to use the more becom-
ing scriptural phrase, "the wicked taken in their own snare,
and falling into the pit they have themselves digged."

I. There is much meaning in the last appeal which
Pilate addresses to the Jews, evidently after he has
made up his own mind, and apparently for the purpose
of drawing them on to commit themselves more deeply
than they might intend or wish : " And it was the pre-

X

322 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS — PONTIUS PILATE:

paration of the passover, and about the sixth hour : and
he saith unto the Jews, Behold your king! But they
cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him.
Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your king ? The
chief priests answered, We have no king but Caesar"
(Johnxix. 14, 15).

It is the day before the Sabbath, and it is getting
far on towards noon. Much time has already been lost
through Pilate's long hesitation ; and even now, when
the hours are slipping by, he seems to be still trifling
with them. Else why this new solemnity of bringing
Jesus out, and presenting him to them as their king?
and why this idle repetition of the appeal to them,
"Shall I crucify your king?" Why waste words and
put off the business of the day? As it is, the day is
already too far spent. The Sabbath will be upon them
before the work is done, and Jesus may escape somehow
after all

For though they have no scruples about ridding
themselves of a preacher of righteousness, and of the
righteousness which he preaches — nay, though they
think that in this way they are doing God service — by
no means will they, for all the world, have the thing
done on the Sabbath. They had thought that they
were safe from any such risk. They set about their
task betimes in the morning. They summoned their
own council at the high priest's house while it was yet
dark; and they came early enough thereafter to the
governor's palace. And if it had not been for the most
unexpected obstacle which they met with there, tin'

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 323

whole affair might have been already over, and they
might now be decently and devoutly composing their
minds for the coming day of rest. For certainly they
never dreamed of any conscientious difficulty in the
quarter to which they applied. They never imagined
that a Roman judge could have any feeling in such a
matter, or that it would cost him a second thought to
dispose of it, or let them dispose of it, as they chose.
Much to their surprise and annoyance, they have been
kept waiting all the forenoon, while Pilate has been con-
ferring with Jesus, consulting Herod, and debating with
himself. And now, when after much ado they have
prevailed with him and got his sanction, it is barely
possible to avoid encroaching on the Sabbath. And
even yet Pilate seems to be manoeuvring and managing
to gain time, coming slowly to the point, keeping Jesus
still in his hands, repeating his idle and tedious appeals,
renewing his formal and solemn protests, and shrinking
from the last decisive step.

In this irritating suspense they lose patience, they
lose temper. Their usual cautious cunning deserts them.
They let out more and more of their bitter hatred to
Jesus : " Away with him, away with him, crucify him/'
Nor is this alL They are provoked to go farther in
their avowal and asseveration of compliance with the
Roman government than in a less hasty moment they
would have ventured to do : " We have no king but
Caesar;" — 'We not only give up this pretender to the
throne, but we renounce all claim at any time to inde-
pendence. Not only is this man not our king, but

324 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

never in any sense are we to have any king but Caesar.
Not even our Messiah when he does come, as this Jesus
professes to be our Messiah already come, — not even the
true Messiah is to be our king/

Were these Jews seriously and soberly prepared to
make this broad avowal in a calmer hour? Were they
ready thus absolutely, unequivocally, and without re-
striction or reservation, to pledge themselves to Borne, —
to deny not only this Jesus as their Messiah, but the
very hope of a Messiah altogether, — to give a foreign
tyranny so unlimited a hold over them, and abandon all
their fondly cherished hopes of national glory, liberty,
and power ?

No ; but they had a purpose to serve. They were
on the point of being baulked in a favourite scheme on
which their heart was set. They were approaching the
very verge of what they most punctiliously accounted
sacred. They must, at all events, have Jesus crucified ;
and they must have him crucified in such time as not to
interfere with the Sabbath.

Ah, Pilate ! thou art already well-nigh even with these
Pharisees who have so hardly pressed thee. It may
gratify thy most vindictive feelings, — it might gratify
the malice of the very fiend himself, — to get this insight
into the hearts of these men ; — to see them, as the trem-
bling eagerness of their unholy passion contends with the
miserable bondage of their superstitious formality, so
simply betraying themselves, so rashly committing them-
selves to an extent far beyond all that in the first outset
of this affair they could themselves have dreamed of. It

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 325

is a triumph for hell itself, to see " the wicked snared in
their own devices, and falling into the pit themselves have
digged"

II. And their own vain and impotent remonstrance —
when the blunder of their extravagant concession strikes
them by way of after-thought, and Pilate keeps them
rigidly to the letter of their admission — serves to bring
out still more palpably the sort of by-play between the
parties in this crime of crucifying the Lord: " And Pilate
wrote a title, and put it on the cross. And the writing was,
JESUS OF NAZARETH THE KING OF THE JEWS.
This title then read many of the Jews : for the place where
Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city : and it was written
in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin. Then said the chief
priests of the Jews to Pilate, Write not, The King of the
Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews. Pilate
answered, What I have written I have written" (John
xix. 19-22).

And he answered shrewdly. For by this time the
rulers of the Jews seem to have recovered their recollec-
tion, and they find that their Roman friend, their new
ally in this confederacy against Jesus, has somewhat out-
witted them. He has taken them at their word, and has
them pledged much deeper than they, on a moment's
more deliberate reflection, can well consent to be pledged.
They would fain retrace their steps. They would retract
or qualify what they have said; and at least contrive to
have the case put not quite so strongly against them.
Hence they propose a change in the inscription.

326 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

The title, as Pilate wrote it, intimated that, even if
Jesus were the rightful and hereditary king of the Jews,
he might justly be condemned, because, by their own
acknowledgment, they could now have no king of their
own — no king but Caesar. They would have it modified
so as to involve an admission that there might be a king
of the Jews, and to declare merely that this Jesus was not
that king. The crime of Jesus, as Pilate expressed it,
was, that even if he were by right the king of the Jews,
— even allowing the soundness and legitimacy of his
claim, — he should have asserted that claim at all. His
crime, as the Jews would now have it explained, was
merely that his claim was false. They would now have
him crucified as pretending to be their king. Pilate
crucified him as actually being their king : thereby de-
claring, not only that one wrongfully usurping the title,
but that even one having an undoubted personal right to
it, if he ventured to avow and exercise it, might, on the
ground of the allegiance which the Jews owed to the
Roman emperor, be justly put to death.

And this the Jews themselves had virtually allowed:
" We have no king but Caesar." It was too late, there-
fore, for them now to attempt to draw back ; Pilate had
them committed. ' " He said, I am king of the Jews" —
so now you would have the accusation run. He said !
nay, it was yourselves who said it. You expressly
admitted that, even if he were your king, you disowned
him. For you gave him over to me, not on the ground
of his claiming falsely to be your king, but on the broad
general ground of your having no king but Caesar. By

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 327

that admission you must be held bound, even though now
you may seek to escape from some of its consequences that
you did not formerly advert to. You told me I might
crucify your king, because you had no king but Csesar.
You appealed to my fidelity as a deputy to Csesar : " If
thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar's friend/' And
you will find me faithful — at least to the full extent of
your own most loyal and most dutiful acknowledgment/

Has not Pilate the better of them here ? And do not
they, with their after-thoughts, make as poor and miserable
a figure as Pilate with his scruples beforehand? They
first sought to entrap him, and carry him along with
them in a course in which they needed his concurrence ;
and now they find that, in their eager haste to accomplish
this, they have themselves gone much farther than they
meant to go in the way of denying and disavowing their
own promised and expected Messiah.

Thus the wicked and the worldly become entangled in
their own schemes, and put it in the power often of the
weakest of their accomplices to unmask them. Thus you
may be apt to pledge yourselves unwarily to the world.
Having still some religious profession, such as it is, you
would not engage in what is altogether inconsistent with
it. In your practical opposition to serious godliness, and
in your approaches and applications to the ungodly, you
would save, as far as possible, that measure of faith, or of
formality, which even yet you hold to be essential, — -just
as these Jews, in their persecution of Jesus and their flat-
tery of Caesar, would fain reserve their hope of such a
Messiah and such a king as might suit their views. So

328 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

you would persuade yourselves, and, it may be, others
too, whom you wish to go along with you, that it is not
religion itself that you are sacrificing in the course which
you follow, but only some extravagant and unreasonable
mode of it. But, unluckily, in courting others you may
be apt to betray and to commit yourselves. And a shrewd
man of the world may soon clearly enough perceive, that
however you may pretend or profess to be merely giving
up this or that form or fashion of religion, yon are really
quite willing to give up religion altogether; that, in fact,
you are prepared to do so, — to go the full length of pre-
ferring the world to God; and that, not merely in refer-
ence to the claims which this or that particular power or
principle might have over you, but in reference to the
claims of any other power or principle whatsoever, besides
himself, the prince of this world has really nothing to fear.
You may be desirous, on reflection, of keeping yourselves
free, to render a certain kind of homage to some ideal
lord, when he shall come to demand it. But meanwhile,
and practically,* to all intents and purposes you are the
subjects of Caesar alone; and the servant of Caesar is shrewd
enough to perceive it.

And will the world be slow to take advantage of what
is thus let out, and to interpret in the largest sense your
giving up of your own King, and your avowal of allegiance
to its prince ? You may attempt to explain, and limit,
and modify ; you may wish to make it appear that, after
all, in the particular instance in question, it is not real
godliness that you are compromising or conceding, but
only what may sometimes, though too strictly, be called

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 329

godliness, or what unwarrantably professes to be godli-
ness,— not the King of the Jews, but one who said he
was the King of the Jews. But, alas ! the spirit which
you evince is the spirit of unreserved submission to the
world and its prince. You too clearly show, by what
you give up now, that, if required, you would give up
all, — that not only one saying that he is your king, but
your king himself, if need be, would be sacrificed.

Nay, is it not in fact your King that you are sacrificing ?
Is it not godliness itself that you are compromising?
Then of what worth or avail is the vain qualification
which you would now attach to your concession ? Why
make any reservation in favour of any religion, when all
religion, or at least all its real and living spirit, is sub-
stantially gone ?

The Jews would have it written that he whom they
crucified said he was their king ; as if, had he been really
their king, they would not so have treated him ! But
this shift could stand them in no stead. It was their
King, after all, whom they crucified; and therefore Pilate
did them no wrong when he answered, " What I have
written I have written/'

III. There is still one other feature worthy of illustra-
tion in this record of the poor and pitiful position in which
these Jewish persecutors of the Lord found themselves.
It is their final application to Pilate, as their victim hung
upon the cross : " The Jews therefore, because it was the
preparation, that the bodies should not remain upon the
cross on the Sabbath-day, (for that Sabbath-day was an

330 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

high day,) besought Pilate that their legs might be broken,
and that they might be taken away" (John xix. 31).

Mark here the wretched superstition of these hypocrites,
at the mercy as the}7 are now of the very man, all whose
better scruples they themselves have assailed and over-
come !

As evening draws on apace, and the Sabbath is about
to begin, the Jews are again troubled by the thought of
that holy day being desecrated ; more especially as this
Sabbath-day is a high day, a great festival, distinguished
as* the principal Sabbath of the paschal feast. It must
be observed, therefore, with peculiar solemnity ; its rest
must be undisturbed, and its sanctity unviolated. But
here are three crosses at the city gate, — a most unseemly
profanation of the holy season. Here is a work of death
going on, by which its repose is broken ; for the punish-
ment of the cross is lingering* and many hours may
elapse before the sufferers are relieved from their horrid
agony. What, then, is to be done ? Some speedier mode
of despatching them must be resorted to, — in mercy,
perhaps ? to shorten the period of their excruciating
pains ? Nay, for that matter, they might have been left
to hang as long as nature could sustain them. But the
Sabbath must be kept holy ! And who, it might be
asked, who exposed it to the risk of desecration ? — who
but these very Jews themselves, in their haste to shed
innocent blood ? ' It is a dismal work. Let it be all
got over, and let every trace of it be effaced, before the
peaceful Sabbath eve sets in/ Ah ! are your hearts
misgiving you ? Are your consciences smiting you ? Do

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 331

you secretly feel that fraud and murder are but sorry
preparations for religious duty ? Nay, no such suspicion
disturbs your self-complacency — but the Sabbath — the
Sabbath !

Blessed day ! that such enormous and unblushing
criminality should shelter itself under colour of respect
and reverence for thee ! — that men, dead to every holy
feeling, every kind affection, should pretend to know thy
value, and to love and honour thee !

These Pharisees, were they men of like passions with
their fellows, that, in the midst of a crisis so awful, they
were wholly occupied with such punctilios? The heavens
were darkened, the earth convulsed, the rocks riven, the
vail of the temple rent in twain. He who hung upon
the cross, meanwhile, patiently enduring anguish, insult,
and outrage, was uttering mysterious words of sovereign
and gracious consolation to his fellow-sufferer, — of most
pathetic complaint to his God ! Yet none of these things
moved the Pharisees. Their only care was to get the
whole business over, and all the apparatus of torture and
the dead bodies taken away, no matter where, before the
hour of the opening Sabbath should come. And when it
did come, they would compose themselves for a due obser-
vance of all their Sabbath ritual with serene, self-satisfied
vsolemnity, — as if nothing extraordinary had marked that
preparation-day, — as if they had not gazed on the agony of
One with whose mysterious sufferings heaven and earth
sympathized, and had not themselves uttered the fearful
imprecation, " His blood be on us, and on our children \"

Now, surely when these men thus anew applied to

332 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

Pilate for such a purpose as this, they must have appeared
to him in an aspect abundantly humiliating. Here again,
they who pressed him so importunately are at his mercy,
• — they who overbore with their clamour all his conscien-
tious scruples, are now fain to come to him with certain
scruples of their own. In the morning of this very day
they seemed to be troubled with no tender feelings, to be
above all the weaknesses of ordinary human nature, — to
have no fear — no reverence — no remorse. They were
bold and reckless. They would shrink from nothing
themselves. They had no allowance for any sensitiveness
in others. They seemed to acknowledge no restraint of
justice or of pity. Before the gratification of their
passions, and the attainment of their ends of policy, they
would make all things give way. And now these very
men are in utter consternation at the very idea of even
a hairbreadth deviation from the letter of a positive
institution. The deed itself did not hurt their conscience ;
but that it should all be over in good time for their
Sabbath devotions, this was a point of infinite moment
to their peace I

Pilate, however, is more indulgent to them than they
had been to him. They had shown little regard for his
compunctions. They would not wait his time. They
hurried him on without reflection, and made him con-
sent to an act of wrong from which his soul all the
while recoiled Fairly might he now have retorted
upon them. Why should he accelerate or interfere
with the ordinary course of justice for their accommo-
dation? What has he to do with their Sabbath, or with

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 333

the possibility of this execution encroaching on its
sanctity? That is their concern alone. It was they
who clamoured for it, and insisted on it al] the morn-
ing ; and if it came too near the Sabbath, it was their
own doing, and what was it to him? But the easy
Koman is more good-natured than they might have ex-
pected to find him. He is willing to relieve them out
of the difficulty in which they are involved. He has no
wish to offend their religious feelings, — by all means let
the horrid work of death be shortened. Let the crimi-
nals be despatched at once. Their sufferings will be the
less, and the consciences of these honest and religious
Jews will be saved !

Thus with something like contempt Pilate must have
heard and granted this request. He could scarcely give
them credit for real sincerity in their religion. After
all that he had seen of them, he could have no great
opinion of their piety, — however he might smile at their
superstition, or hate their hypocrisy. What, indeed,
could be the impression made upon this worldly prince
by such ostentatious affectation of a regard for holy
ordinances on the part of those who had so lately denied
the Holy One and the Just, and demanded a murderer
to be given to them? What could be the effect, but
altogether to disparage in his eyes these holy ordinances
themselves, and confirm him in the notion that all
punctual observance of sacred duties, — all scrupulous
adherence to sacred laws, — all godliness itself, in short,
with its holy exercises and duties, was but a fond dream,
or a vain pretence ?

334 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

Alas ! how apt are the men of this world to turn to
such account as this the inconsistencies of those who
profess to be religious ! How much encouragement do
they derive in their own neglect of sacred things, from
the apparent falsehood or infirmity of those who more
devoutly regard them ! How easy is it for a man, wit-
nessing in those who themselves too plainly neglect, and
who have no scruple in leading others to neglect, the
weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith,
— witnessing in such characters not a little punctilious-
ness in the regular discharge of certain pious offices, —
how easy is it for such a man, and how natural, to rush
at once to a conclusion, and indiscriminately to condemn,
or to despise, alike the offices themselves and those who
so discharge them !

So it might have been with Pilate ; and not without
some considerable show of reason, or some plausible ex-
cuse, at least, if he had had these Jews alone to deal
with. He might have justified himself, by their vile
hypocrisy, in now at last dismissing for ever those seri-
ous thoughts which had, in all this dark business, been
harassing and distracting him. He might have got
rid of his uneasy misgivings, and settled down again
into the peace and quietness of scornful or sceptical
indifference.

So it might have been, but that God in his wise
providence — having, it would seem, determined not to
leave himself in this man's soul without a witness, and
not to leave him with any apology for his sin — brought

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 335

him, on this very same night, into contact with one that
feared God after quite another fashion from these Jews.

For so it was ordered, that scarcely had these Pha-
risees left his presence, — these hypocrites, whose base-
ness might well occasion, and almost warrant, some
emotions of indignation and disgust against all that
they contaminated with their touch, — scarcely had they
left his presence, when a man of another stamp came
in upon another errand. Joseph of Arimathea is intro-
duced ; — a devout man, likely to place devotion in a
better and truer light before this prince : " And after
this Joseph of Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but
secretly for fear of the Jews, besought Pilate that he
might take away the body of Jesus : and Pilate gave
him leave. He came therefore, and took the body of
Jesus" (John xix. 38). This Joseph, too, as well as
the chief priests, scrupulously and punctiliously respects
the Sabbath. He too is in haste to have his work con-
cluded ere the Sabbath sets in. But what is the work
on which he is intent ? Not such a work as they had
on hand, but a work of faith and labour of love. They
came to dishonour Jesus, by adding yet new outrages to
all that they had already inflicted ; he to honour him, by
reverently consigning him to the tomb. They wanted
him taken away and put aside ere the Sabbath should
commence ; but where, or how, they cared not. With
what indignities he might be treated,— how his bones
might be scattered and left to bleach among the skulls
from which the place got its name, — what was all that
to them, so as only they got through their customary

336 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

Sabbath routine ? Joseph, too, wishes the body of Jesus
taken away before the Sabbath ; but with what differ-
ent treatment ! — with fragrant spices, and comely burial
service, and the laying of it in a sepulchre wherein was
never man yet laid (John xix. 38-42).

Thus, to counteract in Pilate's mind the impression
which hard-hearted hypocrisy had made, there is pre-
sented to his view an instance of truest and tenderest
devotion. Pilate had been struck with reverence and
awe as he gazed on the Lord's unspeakable majesty,
and heard his words of gracious authority and truth ;
he had begun to think that this might be a divine per-
son, and the thought had troubled him during the whole
pleading by which he was at last persuaded or con-
strained to give him up. When he saw, however, this
holy and heavenly being left alone in his dying hour,
deserted, and apparently scorned, by all; when he saw,
especially, that he was to be recklessly cast aside as a
worthless thing by men who made a great profession
of strictness in religion ; when, in their usage of this
Just One, he perceived the offensive and most repulsive
union of bitter malice and base cruelty with the most
imposing sanctity of mien and manners; — what more
natural than that he should relapse into a state of
hardened, indifferent unconcern? — as if all the things
which had ever moved him to serious thought were to
be regarded as little better than solemn mockery or im-
position. But he is not thus to be given over. He is
not to have such a plea or pretence for his unbelief as
the conduct of these Jews might seem to furnish. He is

r

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 337

to have a specimen of true piety as well as of its counter-
feit. He is to know that there can be such a thing as
an honestly religious man, a punctual observer of the
Sabbath, and, at the same time, upright, merciful, com-
passionate,— one who can testify his love to Jesus when
all else forsake him, — one giving such simple and affec-
tionate proof of his real attachment as may well touch
Pilate's heart again, and go far to awaken once more his
sentiments of reverence and awe.

Great, in this view, is the value of a single Joseph of
Arimathea amid a crowd of frivolous or formal Pharisees.
Great the good that he may do, most precious the testi-
mony which he may bear, and the example which he may
show, by counteracting the unfavourable impressions
which less consistent or less straightforward professors of
religion leave on careless, and even on thoughtful minds ;
by reviving feelings of admiration or of love for the
gospel, which the conduct of some of its disciples may
have stifled or blunted ; by appealing to the sympathies
of men who, though not thoroughly religious themselves,
can yet appreciate religious excellences and graces in
others; by removing prejudices, and presenting the beauty
of holiness in its own fair and honourable aspect, apart
from the colourings which less hearty and ingenuous
characters may manage to throw over it. Such a one
may do much to keep alive salutary convictions, obviate
misapprehensions, and conciliate favour ; and if his testi-
mony issues not in the conversion of those before whom
it is exhibited, it serves at least to rescue the blessed
gospel of Christ from those unworthy imputations under

338 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

which the ungodly would fain seek to shelter their rejec-
tion of it. Pilate may still harden his heart and resist
the striving of the Spirit of God with his conscience ; but
the fact is not without meaning — and it has a solemn bear-
ing on his state of mind and ultimate responsibility — that,
amid all that he saw of human wickedness and weakness
in the close contact into which he was brought with
those who called themselves the people of God, the first
image certain to rise up in Pilate's memory, whenever he
retraced these scenes, must have been the venerable look
and language of authority with which the Lord himself
appealed to him ; and his last recoUection must have
been that of Joseph of Arimathea coming in to beseech
him that he might take away the body of Jesus for an
honourable burial.

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 339

XIX.

THE CASE OF PILATE— A WARNING AGAINST
RESISTING THE SPIRIT.

WE are unwilling to leave the subject of Pilate's char-
acter and conduct, without attempting to apply it more
particularly and practically than we have yet done to
ourselves. For there are many Pilates still among us ;
and many occasions on which the Lord Jesus, if not
personally, yet as represented in his cause, his gospel, and
his people, comes before them for trial and judgment.
And it may be interesting and profitable to observe how
far, in such circumstances, our modern Pilates follow the
winding track of their sorely harassed and desperately
hunted predecessor of old.

Let us trace, then, a parallel case. Instead of Pilate,
let us place on the bench an individual of the present
day ; and let each reader conceive that "he is the man."

Jesus comes before you to be tried ; and his adver-
saries, the world, the devil, and the flesh, press for a
sentence of condemnation. In plain language, the claims
of serious religion, or vital godliness, are pressed upon you
in a form and with an urgency which you find it difficult
to evade. You are called upon, in a manner more per-
emptory than usual, to decide between God and Mammon.
You are shut up to the necessity of choosing whom you
will serve.

340 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

This crisis may arise in a variety of ways, — either in
reference to the general question of your condition and
character before God, or in reference to some particular
point of practical detail which brings that question
specially to an issue.

You are living, and you have been living perhaps all
your days, in a state of quiet and secure indifference ; —
satisfied with a respectable routine of religious forms and
moral decencies, and giving yourselves little concern about
any deeper movement of soul, such as some might con-
sider necessary to your being enrolled among the true
followers of the Lamb. You hear, indeed, of proceedings
in certain quarters, and among a certain class, which
seem to indicate a very different tone of religious feeling
from anything with which you are familiar. You hear
and read of convictions and awakenings, of changes and
conversions, of intense excitement, of extraordinary emo-
tions both of joy and sorrow, of earnest meditation, of
burning zeal, — of things, in short, which show that the
question which you take so easily and settle so smoothly,
is found by others to be more engrossing, more agitating,
more spirit-stirring. You regard these things, however,
as a mere idler might listen to the strange news of
revolutions in other lands, scarcely knowing what to
make of them, — scarcely caring to know ; or as Pilate
might superciliously catch some floating rumour bandied
in his vacant court-circle, respecting Him who was
creating such a stir in Jerusalem.

But something occurs to bring the matter home to you.
Suddenly you find Jesus — the gospel or the cause of

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 341

Jesus — standing before you. And who, or what, has
brought him? Perhaps your own conscience, half
awakened, — or your worldly inclinations, — your worldly
lusts. These have taken the alarm. Jesus — the gospel
or the cause of Jesus — is interfering with your allegiance
to the master whom they serve, — the world, or the prince
of the world. This religion is like to be troublesome.
It is advancing very high and paramount claims, — claims,
as these advisers would fain represent them to you, in-
compatible even with the just and lawful demands of this
world's necessary business. On this plea and charge,
these accusers — these worldly lusts of yours — or, it may
be, worldly companions flattering your lusts — virtually
bring the religion of Jesus to your bar, and press you
summarily to dispose of it?

Like Pilate, perhaps, you would gladly enough avoid
the necessity of taking up the case at all. You shrink
from the question, and are shy of meddling with it, —
you would rather keep this whole matter at a distance.
You have a sort of uncomfortable feeling that it does not
lie quite in your way ; that the discussion of it might
not be altogether to your taste ; and that, if you once
entertained it, you might not easily get rid of it. But
then, on the other hand, there is great importunity,
not to be beaten off, in the demand made on you for a
decision.

At this stage, it may be an importunity all on one side.
There may be no very urgent pleading, no ,very close
striving, as yet, in favour of religion. The Lord may as
yet be silent. But his enemies — your sins, and the

342 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

world's vanities — are clamorous ; for they have taken the
alarm. They see that if the high authority which religion
claims is to be acknowledged, or even tolerated, it strikes
at the root of their power ; and this or the other darling
attachment must be sacrificed, — this or the other favourite
indulgence must go. Therefore they press for your deci-
sion against that authority. It is true, they may not ven-
ture to avow their real motive and design, any more than
the Jewish rulers ventured to do before Pilate. They
did not tell Pilate that they wished to get rid of Jesus
bedause he was destroying their influence and expos-
ing their arts: that would have been too plain speaking.
They went about the matter more warily, — more wilily.
And on the same principle, it might be too plain speaking
in those lusts and pleasures which regard Jesus as their
enemy, to let you understand at once what they would
have, or to avow that they hate him because he condemns
them. It is not thus that you are to be managed, and,
if possible, "hardened through the deceitfulness of sin/'
No ; these plausible Jewish hypocrites sink the offence
against themselves, and are only anxious lest Caesar's
lawful power be touched. And so the plea still is, that
Jesus and his cross — or rather, that Jesus and his crown —
would threaten even what is lawful in this world, — its
lawful and necessary pursuits, or its lawful and necessary
pleasures. Yes ; the fear is, that these high and uncom-
promising views of Christ's authority, as so paramount
and so holy, are carrying matters decidedly too far,
and encroaching upon every other province, and en-
grossing and swallowing up all things. It is plain that,

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 343

if this kind of religion is to prevail, the world is at a
stand.

Such is the charge which certain secret sins in the
heart, or certain open flatterers in the world, towards
whom you have a lurking bias, and who have gained an
ascendency over you — certain solicitors with whom you
are inclined to comply — certain habits which, almost for
very necessity, you are fain to indulge — may be urging
against that godliness which, as they are beginning to
suspect, would reprove and denounce them. And they
may be insisting on the plea importunately, in the hope
that you may be at once persuaded to acquiesce in the
accusation and give sentence accordingly.

I. Well, and what is the first step in the process?
You have no great objection to do what is asked. You
would willingly enough dispose of the whole matter by
coming to the abrupt conclusion that this allegation against
all serious religion — at least against a religion so very
serious as that in question — is substantially well founded;
that it will not do for this world ; that it does involve
danger to the quiet and orderly course of this world ; and
that it must, therefore, be sacrificed. Thus you would
decide, — your sympathies and predilections, as yet, being
all against such a religion. Your interest as well as your
inclination leads you to leave unmolested those principles
and passions opposed to religion, which, if you do not posi-
tively desire to gratify, you are, at any rate, not prepared
to mortify and offend.

But you cannot altogether evade the necessity of at

,-AJk".

3 4 4 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE.

least appearing to deliberate. You cannot quite drown
your instinctive sense of what is due to the claims which
are pressed upon you. There is a time for reflection. You
have to enter into your closet, and Jesus follows you there.
And, however unseasonable and inconvenient the interrup-
tion of your business or your gaiety may be, you are
constrained in your own mind to look a little into this
religion of Jesus, and let its voice, however faintly, enter
the ear of conscience.

And here the hollowness of the pretence on which the
first insidious charge against it is urged, must soon become
apparent. You quickly perceive that the plea of inter-
ference with anything really useful or lawful in the world
cannot be sustained. A single word of explanation on
the part of our Lord satisfied Pilate that his imperial
master had nothing to fear. And you too, in the like
case, however willing to be imposed upon, cannot fail to
see through "the deceitfulness of sin/' You are not at
all disinclined, at the instigation of sin, or of some of its
vain and worldly allies and friends, to get rid at once of
this religion, whose very presence is troublesome, by find-
ing that it must necessarily in practice be compromised,
for the sake of this world's peace and this world's indis-
pensable calls. But you cannot easily satisfy yourself
that you are quite justified in doing so. Conscience, the
judge, detects the partial counsel of the accusers. Almost
in spite of yourself you are convinced that the character
of this religion, so pure, so spiritual, and so holy, is such
as not only must prevent any undue interference with a
single lawful claim which anything in this world can

A WARNING AGAINST EESISTING THE SPIKIT. 345

have over you, — but must even, on the contrary, impart
a new sanction and a new sacredness to them all. Nay
more, you cannot but suspect that it is this very character
that makes the world's sins and vanities so clamorous
against it.

And then, its twofold claim of sovereignty and of truth
begins to arrest you. Jesus is King ; and he is the
Witness of the Truth. It is with authority that he speaks,
and there is an impression made by his emphatic and
peremptory demand upon your faith, such as is not easily
shaken off. You cannot but feel that there must be, that
there is, more in this religion than you at first imagined.
You cannot dispose of its claims so summarily as might
suit your convenience, and that of your worldly lusts.
No ! You have an idea now that it may be mystical,
visionary, fanatical ; but whatever it may be, it has got
a hold over you. It has taken possession of you; so that,
at all events, it cannot be put down by any false pretence
in regard to its interference with other claims. Such a
pretence might once have led you to think some sacrifice
of religion's high demands excusable, at least, if not abso-
lutely indispensable ; but it will not avail you now.

II. What, then, is next to be done ? Send the question
to your neighbour, and take his opinion. It concerns him
as much as you, — perhaps a little more. It is in Herod's
jurisdiction ; let Herod judge. Yes ! Try, if you can, to
devolve upon another the responsibility of determining
this matter. See if some worldly friend, or, still better,
if some worldly enemy, will keep you in countenance, and

346 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

take away from you the blame. And if possible let him
be one who has been better acquainted with these things
than you, — who has at one time entertained godliness at
his court, or in his house, and has been accustomed to
hear it gladly. If such a one now mocks it, and sets it
at nought, — if he scoffs, at this religion, or at its professors,
— his levity may somewhat relieve and dissipate your
growing seriousness.

And this seasonable relief administered by him to you
may make you great friends !

Ah ! how many intimacies are thus cemented between
individuals, otherwise most uncongenial to one another.
Herod and Pilate had little in their respective characters,
and little in their previous histories, to bring them
together. Herod was probably too impetuous and head-
strong, Pilate too reserved and too refined, to admit of
much cordiality between the fastidious Roman courtier
and the ruder Galilean tyrant. They had mutually
offended one another ; they were at outstanding enmity
and open quarrel. But a common cause, or rather a
common distress, made brothers of them. They were
both rendered uneasy by having to deal with Jesus, —
Herod by his old recollections, Pilate by his new convic-
tions. Hence the reconciliation between Pilate and one
whom otherwise he would have hated or despised ; Herod
seemed to give him countenance and support in his
attempt to get rid of this troublesome case.

And is not this the explanation of too many of this
world's friendships, as well as of much of that compla-
cency and admiration with which we see some highly

A WAKNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 347

gifted individuals regard those who in every valuable
endowment are far inferior to themselves, — for whom,
indeed, and for whose sentiments and manners, except
on this most deplorable ground of union, they could have
no toleration ? Is it not thus that we must account for
a certain delight which even persons of some good taste
and good feeling take in the coarse scandal or the profane
levity of loose companions, who, in a style of writing or
conversation that would otherwise be most offensive, use
familiar liberties with sacred subjects and serious men, to
the implied disparagement of all sacredness and serious-
ness together ? Is it not that, ill at ease, and not satis-
fied in their own minds, they derive a certain courage
and confidence from seeing how others, better acquainted
perhaps with these matters than they can pretend to be,
are yet free to treat with every kind of contempt what
has made them tremble and stand in awe ? If Herod,
who knows such cases so much more intimately, as being
himself, after a sort, a Jew, — once professing a kind of
devotion, the friend of a holy man, understood to have
repented of the wrong he did in beheading him, — if
Herod and his men of war set Jesus at nought, — it ma}'
the less hurt the conscience of a Gentile unbeliever to treat
his cause with indifference, and count his death a trifle.

Still, where there is conviction of any depth at all, the
conscience may not be so easily satisfied. Herod, after
all, though he has insulted Jesus, has not judged him.
The case is still undisposed of, and in all its urgency it
comes back upon Pilate once more.

Ah ! you would often be glad to find a temporary ex-

348 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

pedient for keeping serious thought away, by lending an
ear to the vain and flippant cavils of those who, dealing
in smart remarks, or in the light and frivolous irreverence
of tale-bearers and busy-bodies, substitute mere wit for
argument, and settle the most momentous questions by a
personal hit or a party jest. But criticising or mocking
the godly does not really get rid of the claims of godli-
ness. Neither you nor your friends have yet decided the
cause. Jesus is still there, — claiming sovereignty and
witnessing truth. His adversaries — the lusts and pas-
sions which he condemns — still require you to give him
up. And, in spite of raillery and ridicule — in spite of all
that might make you easy and indifferent about the
matter — you have your own misgivings and relentings.
You cannot bring yourself altogether to renounce or sacri-
fice your reverence for religion, or make an entire sur-
render of your religious feelings and scruples, to the sins,
the follies, and vanities of the world. These, therefore,
or your own lusts flattered and stirred up by them, are
still unsatisfied. They persevere in their demand that
you should come to some decision in regard to this serious
call of godliness, — such a decision as may prevent its
troubling them any more. What, then, is to be done ?

III. Try what a compromise will do. You will not
decide positively in favour of this religion ; but neither
will you decide peremptorily against it. You will leave
the matter undetermined ; you will simply let Jesus alone.
He shall escape the last sentence of death ; but it shall
be merely by sufferance, and of grace. You will take

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 349

advantage of some fair and plausible excuse for not ac-
tually proceeding to extremities against his cause, or
against his people ; such an excuse as cannot well subject
you to the suspicion of fully sanctioning either it or them.
The decent custom of the season, ordinary civility, mere
routine, may explain what you say or do in favour of
godliness, or of its statutory observances ; and you will
not be committed on either side.

Well, and will this satisfy the world that is pleading
so urgently for the Lord's condemnation, or those worldly
desires which have gained such an ascendency over you ?
Will they be contented with this declaration of neutrality ?
Will they accept of this proposal of a middle course?
You do not intend to pledge yourself rashly to the prin-
ciples and the practices of the godly. You are not pre-
pared to go all lengths with them in their extreme strict-
ness and severity. You have no wish to take up what
is called a religious profession, and to be marked out as
a religious character. No ! by no means. There is no-
thing to be apprehended on that score. Your worldly
friends need not take the alarm so fast. You will not
offend them. You will not separate yourself from them.
And your worldly lusts may, in the meanwhile, rest
assured that there is no great risk of your sacrificing any
of them that are really dear to you, to your new religious
sensibility. At the same time, you cannot bring your
mind to declare wholly against this religion. There may
be something, after all, in its high and uncompromising
claim of sovereignty and of truth. There are some fea-
tures in it which you admire, others which you fear, — a

350 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

few which you almost love. You cannot join in sweeping
censures and denunciations against it. You cannot sum-
marily conclude that it is all folly and madness. You
may be allowed at least to treat it civilly.

Thus the case remains in suspense. And surely this
understanding might appease the distressing strife. Surely
your worldly habits, and worldly counsellors and tempters,
need not ask more than this.

Nay, but it is not enough for them that you are not
for Christ. It is not enough if you are not against him ;
for otherwise you are not wholly theirs. They would
have you to be entirely their own, — to go along with
them heartily and fully, not with hesitation and reluctance,
not with misgivings and scruples, — not like one " fleeing
when no man pursueth," and "in great fear where no fear
is," — but boldly and frankly. This halting, therefore,
will not do. Even so measured and cautious a toleration
of godliness they will not endure. You may put it to
them, as an alternative, whether they will have serious
religion allowed and countenanced even to so limited an
extent, and on so guarded a footing, or have open profanity
and profligacy let loose. You may put the very hesitating
and halting regard you would still have paid to Christ,
on the ground of its being preferable to the license of evil,
which otherwise is to be chosen. They will almost take
their risk of a jail-delivery of all crime, rather than let
the religion which they dislike have free scope and play.
Even if the choice i§ between Christ and Barabbas, they
will choose Barabbas, though Barabbas be a robber. —
What, then, is next to be tried?

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 351

IV. Make yet another experiment. Make the experi-
ment of concession, and see if that will succeed. Give
them, if not the cloak, at least the coat. Go with them
a mile. Let Jesus, in pain and mockery, be crowned,
and robed, and smitten. Perhaps that measure of com-
pliance will content the Jews !

Yes, you will overcome your scruples so far as to allow
certain liberties to be taken with religion. The profane
and worldly, when they treat it with levity, can now
sometimes win a smile from you. Nay, you have so
much of a kind of sympathy with them as to be rather
pleased than otherwise to see unseasonable gravity and
sanctimonious gloom somewhat rudely handled, and solemn
professors made sport of. But beyond this you are not
at all inclined to go. For your secret uneasiness is increas-
ing ; you have more and more disquieting apprehensions ;
you have your dreams and omens, your warnings and
visitations. You tremble more and more at the extremity
to which you are likely to be hurried.

Still you cannot extricate yourself from the toils which
the deceitfulness of sin, and this vain world, have cast
around you. You are involved with those who are carry-
ing their violence against religion to the most implacable
extremes ; you are committed to Christ's enemies ; and any
concession that you may make only emboldens them to
insist on more.

But if they will thus insist on going so much farther
than you can approve of, you can wash your hands, you
can protest against their guilt ; you, at least, are not to
be blamed.

352 SCKIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

Most miserable delusion, most deplorable infatuation,
of this wretched and hollow truce between light and
darkness, between Christ and Belial ! You wash your
hands ! you protest your innocence ! — Idle ceremony !
empty and hypocritical words ! What ! do you not
continue still associated with the very parties whose
proceedings, as you now acknowledge, are becoming
offensive and alarming ? Do you come out from among
them ? When you discover whither they are really
hurrying you, do you break with them at once ? No !
you give them still the right hand of fellowship and the
embrace of brotherhood ; and, however you may save
yourself by feebly protesting and washing your hands,
you smile on them, you court them, you flatter them !

Most melancholy dream ! And not more melancholy
than false and vain ! For meanwhile the world and your
sins are not contented. They still press for a more explicit
condemnation of Christ and his gospel. They take ad-
vantage of the compromise which you have proposed,
and the concession which you have made, and they
urge with greater importunity their demand, " Crucify
him ! Away with him ! " Your uneasiness increases, —
your perplexity, — your pain. The strife becomes more
deadly.

And a surmise, or a hint, as to the true nature of it
comes out. Jesus must be got rid of, — because he claims
to be the Son of God I Here is the secret cause of
offence, — the real ground of opposition to him. He is a
King and a Witness to the Truth ; — a King whose autho-
rity may not be set aside, a Witness whose testimony may

A WAENING AGAINST EESISTING THE SPIRIT. 353

not be rejected, — because he is the Son of God. He
claims to be so ; and they who would have him crucified
let out at last that it is on account of this claim they
would away with him.

V. Thus, as the prolonged struggle begets impatience
and irritation, the mask at last drops, and the deep source
of the outcry against Jesus comes out. The adversaries
lose their self-possession, and, pressing for a decision, show
what really is at the bottom of their enmity, and what
it is in his claims that most provokes them, — he makes
himself the Son of God. The judge also, taking the alarm
anew — once more tossed on a sea of doubt, and not know-
ing what to make of the expressive and emphatic silence
of the accused — loses temper, and affects to end the whole
by a mere bravado and boast of power : 'Am I not the
master of this King — this Son of God. May I not use
my discretion in disposing of him and his pretensions ?
Have I not power to condemn and power to release, as I
see fit?'

In the instance of Pilate, this menace is the last and
impotent struggle of an uneasy conscience sorely and
hardly pressed by convictions and appeals to which it
will not submit, and of which it cannot get rid. It is
an affectation or assumption of bravery which he does
not really feel, — a desperate effort to cover or to overcome,
by an ostentatious attitude of defiance, the secret mis-
givings of a quailing spirit. The feeblest victim of the
chase, when, after all his shiftings and windings, he is

brought at last to stand at bay, will turn upon his pursuers
z

354 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

and emit some expiring flashes of rage. Baited and
maddened by the prolonged pursuit, he will face his
unrelenting foes and give fight ere he yields and dies.
So the poor sinner, whom the claims of religion are dog-
ging so closely and importunately at his heels, after vainly
seeking to evade or to escape from them, becomes petulant
and indignant, and almost thinks that he does well to be
angry ! Is there to be no end of this annoyance ? Is he
to be thus harassed for ever ? And now when he would
bring the matter to a point, and therefore puts an explicit
question, "Whence art thou?" he receives no answer —
Jesus is silent. Has he not a right to be vexed ? And
why, after all, should he suffer his peace to be disturbed
when he can put an end to the whole question at once ?
Why continue to be dunned by the solicitations of these
Jews ; and, especially, why allow one who is wholly at
his mercy to keep him thus endlessly on the rack of a
painful suspense ? He will change his tone. What ! has
he not a right, after all, to take his own way, and do as
he pleases ? He will settle the affair off-hand, and so have
done with it.

A state of mind like this is more common than some
may be ready to suppose, — when men attempt, as it
were, to face down the uncomfortable remonstrances and
suggestions of conscience, and by putting on, as it is
called, a bold front, abruptly end internal deliberations
of which they are weary. This is seen in their way of
dealing with the general question of religion's claims upon
them, as well as with particular questions of duty which
arise in regard to their employment of their time :iu«l

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 3f»5

talents. The flesh, with its lusts and passions ; the
world, with its deceitful pleasures ; the devil, with his
seductive wiles ; — all come and clamorously demand that
you make a sacrifice to them of your religious principles,
and give up, as incompatible with the actual condition of
life, that vital godliness which, however good in itself,
seems too visionary to be here realized. On the other
hand, the Son of God stands before you ; and though he
does not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard
in the streets ; though, he is led as a Lamb to the
slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so
he openeth not his mouth, — his very silence awes the
conscience. And the heart too is sometimes touched,
when, meek and lowly in heart himself, he says, " Come
unto me, ye weary." At such seasons, you feel as if you
were more than half inclined to comply at once with the
affectionate call, and end the strife of your soul by casting
yourself unreservedly into his arms, and consenting to be
wholly his. You almost wish that you could make up
your mind to be fairly and thoroughly religious, and to
cast in your lot with the godly. But again you are
pressed on the other side. You are peremptorily and
importunately solicited to let religion go, and accommo-
date yourself to the world ; and they who solicit you will
not easily take a denial. You are in straits, you are at
a loss, — what is to be done ?

And here there is a fallacy into which you are very
prone to fall — the very fallacy by which Pilate deceived
himself into the idea that he had ground of complaint
against the Lord Jesus, when he said, " Speakest thou

356 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

not unto me?" This same religion, that so urges you, will
not speak so articulately as you would wish. It seems
to present its claims to you in a form too vague and
indefinite. You want something more precise and ex-
plicit : ' Who is it, after all, that you are ? What is it
that you would have ? " How long dost thou hold us in
suspense ? If thou be the Christ, tell us plainly." '

For there is no feature in the gospel which more
sorely perplexes and provokes unrenewed and worldly
men than this alleged indistinctness. The demands
which it makes have a certain character of large, vast,
and unlimited extent, which they cannot easily grasp. If
it were something more specific and more tangible that
it asked, they would know better how to deal with it.
Hence, to such persons, even the most painful system of
penance, and the most burdensome routine of forms, will
be more intelligible and more welcome than the free
grace of the gospel. They desire a religion which will
just tell them at once what is to be done, and then let
them alone. They wish to know the utmost range of
its claims upon them, that they may get through what is
necessary to meet them, and then be free. They feel
always as if, in pressing upon them the gospel, we were
not coming to the point — as if we were dealing in vague
generalities. They call for something more particular
and practical Just prescribe to them at once, in so
many precise terms, their creed and their task — what
they are to believe, and what they are to do — and so let
there be an end of it.

This is the very longing, this is the very craving, of

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 357

the natural mind, which Popery is so skilfully contrived
to satisfy. It relieves men of the responsibility of an
indefinite obligation in religion ; it exacts from them the
acknowledgment of a certain formal authority, and the
fulfilment of certain formal conditions, and, as to all
beyond, it simply lets them off. This is what men seek,
— to have the claims of religion put into a tangible shape,
and marked out by exact limits ; and for this they will
consent to pay a very considerable price, in the way of
service or of sacrifice, to any church that will thus define
and circumscribe their duty. In fact, this is the religion
which, in whatever church, men commonly try to make
for themselves. You have your statutory or customary
round of duty to which you bind yourself — a certain
decent acquiescence in the form of sound words which
you hear, — a certain measure of attendance on outward
ordinances, — a certain reverence for things sacred, and a
punctual performance of certain pious offices. So much
as this, religion seems fairly entitled to require ; and,
having so far acknowledged and complied with its require-
ments, you would fain be let alone and suffered to take
your ease.

And so you might take your ease, but for the appre-
hension which ever and anon haunts you, that there may,
after all, be something more in the gospel than this —
that there may be some depth which you have not yet
fathomed. The very enemies of true religion suggest to
you this apprehension. They let out their jealousy of
the Lord Jesus because he is the Son of God. You
cannot help suspecting that there must be more in his

358 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

claims than at first appeared, since so strong a feeling of
dislike on their part is manifested ; — especially when
you experience the difficulty of any compromise, and
perceive how hard it is to reconcile the importunate
demands of the world with anything like respect and
reverence for religion, or the safe preservation of any of
its life in your souL You begin to be convinced that it
may be a very different kind and amount of homage that
it requires from any that you have hitherto thought of
rendering. Jesus stands before you, — the King, the
Witness to the Truth, the Son of God. May he not
have rights in you, and over you, to an extent hitherto
unrecognised and unconceived ?

But here again the complaint comes in of the vague
and indefinite character of what he claims. There is an
air of mystery about him. He does not speak out plainly
and explicitly enough. You are unhappy, uneasy, dis-
satisfied,— angry. You have the idea of some unknown
discovery which it may deeply concern you to make, —
some unknown heavenly majesty with which you ought
to be acquainted. But you know not how to proceed, or
to which hand to turn. This religion of which you hear so
much, — what precisely, and whence is it? What, definitely,
would it have of you ? It will not further explain itself.
But still there it stands, and the solemn impression of its
high and undefined authority remains, and cannot be got
rid of. What, in these circumstances, is to be done ?

Weary of this uncertainty, provoked by this apparent
mystery, you determine to break up the useless conference,
to break off the unsatisfactory negotiation. After all,

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 359

this religion is a matter under your own power. It rests
with you to dispose of it at your discretion; and, if it
will not come to terms or to an understanding with you,
assume you the mastery over it, — assert your right to
treat it as you choose.

Thus you would gladly terminate the strife. And there
are many who in this attempt partially and for a time
succeed. They keep the Lord Jesus at a distance, and in
abeyance. They affect to deal with him and his holy
and spiritual religion as if he and it were at their mercy,
left to their arbitrary disposal, — as if they had a kind of
title to make of both of them what they please ; so that
any respect shown on their part to vital godliness must
be considered as a favour, — an act almost of grace and
condescension. That they do not at once condemn Jesus,
— that they tolerate his claims even for a moment, — that
they pay him the compliment of listening to him at all, —
is a great stretch of courtesy, for which they duly take
credit. They might, if they chose, adopt far more decided
measures against him. ' They might give the word or the
hint, and there would be plenty of his enemies ready to
revile, to scourge, to crucify him. Eeligion is really indebted
to them for their forbearance, and for the decent homage
which they render to it. They confer an obligation on
Christ and on his cause by going so far as they do go, —
nay, by simply abstaining from going against him, — which
if they did, the loss would be his. Let him beware, then,
of driving them to this extremity. Let religion beware
of making its high and mysterious demands on them so
unpalatable as to put them to the necessity of withdrawing

360 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS PONTIUS PILATE:

even the countenance and support which they now give,
and leaving it to take its chance without their patronage.
Vain, impotent, and impious pride, of the poor potsherds
of the earth ! What ! and do you really fancy that the
Lord is indebted and obliged to you, because you are
graciously pleased not to turn your power wholly against
him ? — that he must purchase your forbearance by con-
cession, and bow his head to you, lest you should be
provoked to declare more openly against him than you
do ? Nay, but know, O vain man ! that He who sitteth
in the heavens laughs, (Ps. ii.) The Lord holds such
haughty bearing in derision. Yes ; and he will speak to
you in his wrath. What ! dost thou think that it is as
a criminal at thy bar, a suppliant at thy footstool, that
the Son of God standeth before thee ? Is he not thy Lord,
thy King ? He, indeed, dependent upon thee ! Thou
worm of the earth, He challenges thee to do thy worst !
Yes, use thy power against Him, if it seem to thee good; —
only remember it is at thy peril — it is on thy responsibility.
And think not, though thou givest up the Saviour, thou
canst have peace. No, thy weakness, thy imbecility, is
still thy curse. Thou carriest to thy grave the sting of
an uneasy mind Thou hast not succeeded in braving
and bullying either thy conscience or thy God. Thou
art driven at last to desperate measures, — to suicide or
self-murder itself; to the worst form of suicide, — the
hardening of thine own heart, — the destroying of thine
own soul. Only in spiritual death wilt thou find that
end of thy strife which the miserable Roman was fain to
seek by imbruing his hands in his own blood.

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 361

But enough of this. The parallel between Pilate in a
great strait between the Jews and Jesus, and a worldly
man struggling in the grasp of certain spiritual con-
victions which he cannot shake off, and to which his
worldly lusts will not suffer him to yield, might' be followed
up at greater length and in much more minute detail.
It is a painfully interesting study, and it suggests not a
few important practical lessons. One in particular may
be noticed.

If the question be once fairly and seriously raised be-
tween Christ and his. enemies, or between the claims of
vital Christianity and the demands of the world, neutrality
becomes impossible, — neither party will suffer it. Christ,
on his part, cannot endure it : the authority with which
he speaks, — the Truth of which he is the Witness, — the
relation in which he stands to God as his Son, and to
men as their Saviour, Sovereign, and Lord, are all of
such a kind as to forbid his being satisfied with anything
short of a full and unreserved acknowledgment of his
claims.

But the point of the moral lies rather in the considera-
tion, that the world on its side is as intolerant of neutrality
as is the gospel of Christ itself. Let the question come
to a trial before you, and the world will never let you off
until it extorts from you a sentence against the Lord.
Your inclinations, your convictions, your good feelings of
every sort, may be all in favour of some middle course.
But it is all in vain. You cannot long escape. You are
at the mercy of evil principles and evil men with whom
you are not prepared to break ; and, as you will not give

362 SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS — PONTIUS PILATE:

them up for Christ, the issue is too plain and certain on
the other side, — you cannot but in the end sacrifice Christ
to them. There is, therefore, no safety in a neutral posi-
tion— neither the prince of this world nor the Prince
of Life will let you rest in it. There must be a decision
for or against the Lord. "He that is not with me is
against me." Let the inevitable alternative be pondered
well.

And not only let the decision be on the side of Christ,
— let it be also on the side of Christ as having authority.
Too 'often is the question weighed between him and his
enemies in the spirit of haughty or headstrong inde-
pendence ; as if he were at our mercy and disposal, — as
if we had an absolute discretion, and might own or reject
him at our pleasure. He seems to stand before us at our
bar, awaiting our verdict ; or we conceive of him as if he
were to be obliged to us for a little water, such as he
asked of the woman at the well of Samaria ; or for a
courteous act of hospitality, such as he accepted in the
Pharisee's house when he sat down to meat with him.
No wonder that our decision in reference to his claims
partakes of the character of compromise and evasion, when
we regard him as thus a suppliant merely, or an accused
person, at our gate. But let us conceive of him as lie
stood before Pilate, in high and holy majesty ; or as he
appeared to Saul on the way to Damascus, in the glory
of his divine sovereignty and grace ; and our attitude will
be that of Saul, — prostrate on the ground before him ; and
our language also will be that of Saul, — " Lord, what
wouldest thou have me to do ?" Let us hear his word to

A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 363

the woman of. Samaria, — "If thou knewest the gift of God,
and who it is that saith unto thee, Give me to drink, thou
wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given
thee living water/' And let each one echo the woman's
prayer, with intelligent, prompt, and guileless faith, —
" Lord, give me this water, that I thirst not."

APPENDIX.

NOTE. — Page 318.

I AM tempted to republish here a portion of a little work, doomed I
suppose to oblivion, — namely, my Letters to Mr. Elliott on some
passages in his " Horse Apocalypticae." In my argument with him
regarding the constitution of the Church of Christ on earth, and its
claim of freedom from the control of the civil power, I found myself
brought into contact with " the famous text," as Mr. Elliott calls it,
"My kingdom is not of this world;" and I was led to make the
following observations upon it, which I reprint without any change,
believing that they sufficiently explain themselves : —

It is a remarkable scene which that "judgment-hall," or chamber of private
audience, in the governor's palace, presents. Pilate and Jesus are seen confront-
ing one another, alone : apart from the accusing Jews, who remained, through
all the trial, on the stairs, or in the vestibule, without. Pilate, then, and Jesus,
are met face to face : Pilate representing the majesty of earth, — Jesus the ma-
jesty of heaven : Pilate set in defence of the prerogatives of human governments,
— Jesus asserting a divine prerogative of his own. The State and the Church
are brought together : the State, in the person of one who wields the power of
the Roman Emperor, the ruler of the world,— the Church, in the person of her
great Head. And the business to be transacted is nothing less than the adjust-
ment of their respective claims. I believe that nearly all the essential elements
of a right adjustment of these claims may be found in the brief conversation that
ensues.

Thus, in the first place, the Lord declares that he is a king, and that he has
& kingdom. And I repeat that this must imply a purpose to have a visible
society upon earth, organized in his name. That was the only sense in which
his being a king, and having a kingdom, could be a matter with which Pilate

366 APPENDIX.

had anything to do : and I own I cannot conceive of Christ using such language
as that now before us, if he did not wish it to be understood of an actual, out-
standing community, about to be formed in the world. He did intend to set
up a commonwealth of his own, and to exercise authority in it, just as ostensibly
as other kings do. This, therefore, seems to be sufficient warrant for the doc-
trine, that the visible Church is a divine institution; and that Christ exercises
full royal authority in it, governing it by distinct laws and distinct officers of
his own, — laws and officers as distinct from those of civil governments, as the
arrangements of one earthly king are from those of another.

Then, secondly, the Lord intimates that this kingdom or society of his, which
he is to govern as King, by laws and officers of his own, differs from other king-
doms, inasmuch as being "not of this world," but spiritual and heavenly, in
its professed character and objects, it has not, and ought not to have, any of
this world's authority or power intrusted to it. In particular, no civil authority
belongs to it, and no power of the sword ; or, in other words, no branch of the
visible Church has any right,' — nor can it lawfully usurp or receive any right, —
to decide civil causes, or to use violence, conscience alone being the single princi-
ple by which it is to act and to maintain itself.

But yet, thirdly, the Lord makes the domain of conscience very wide and
universal. For he goes on, in the immediately following verse, to claim and
challenge the allegiance of Pilate himself to this kingdom of his. It is a king-
dom— a government or sovereignty — depending not at all on the force of arms,
but wholly on the force of truth : its King is the witness to the truth : it appeals
not to physical coercion, or constraint, but exclusively to conscience. It appeals,
however, through the truth of which its King is the witness, to the conscience
of every one, — of rulers as well as subjects, — of Pilate himself as well as others.
The princes of this world, therefore — all civil rulers and governors — are, in their
official capacity, and not merely as private persons, bound to hear the voice of
this King, — to own the truth of which he is the witness, and to acknowledge the
kingdom of which he is the Governor.

And hence, in the fourth place, as the Lord emphatically teaches, they are
peculiarly responsible to God for the manner in which they deal with his Son,
and with the kingdom which his Son sets up,— a kingdom in, though not of,
the world. For when Pilate, — hard pressed between his own convictions on the
one hand, and the bloodthirsty cry of the Jews on the other, — turns rudely
round upon the meek prisoner before him, and boasts of his power to do with
Jesus what he pleased — how does the Lord reply to him? 'That power thou
doubtless hast. But whence derived? From God: "Thou couldest have no
power at all against me, except it were given thee from above." And tbou art
thinking to use the power received from God against the Son of God ! ' This

APPENDIX. 367

was a fearful aggravation of the traitor's sin, — that he called forth a power
ordained of God to crush the Son of God : " Therefore he that delivered me unto
thee hath the greater sin. " ' It must be an aggravation, also, of thy guilt, if
thou fallest into his snare, — and into his condemnation.'

Pilate here represents the princes of this world : and what the Lord says to
him, applies to them. Their power is not superseded or abridged by the setting
up of Christ's kingdom, or by his claim of sovereignty. Neither on his own part,
personally, nor for his visible Church under him, does he challenge any right to
control civil rulers, even as to their treatment of himself and that very Church.
These rulers are left to their own discretion, to act upon their own responsibility.
Their duty, however, is plain, — and their interest and safety, too; — to "kiss
the Son " (Ps. ii. 10-12) ; to own publicly and officially the truth to which he
bears witness; and to respect and hold sacred his separate and independent
authority in that kingdom, or visible Church, which he rules by statutes and
magistrates of his own. In a word, he does not interfere with them in their
kingdoms, nor should they interfere with him in his.

These, in substance, are our Church principles ; denying the power of the
sword to the Church, and the power of the keys to the civil magistrate. That
power of the keys, in our view of it, is simply the right to determine who shall
be members, and who shall be officers, of the Christian society. It is not,
therefore, in reality, very formidable. No doubt, it is easy to create a vague
fear of undefined and irresponsible ecclesiastical supremacy ; and it is easy, also,
to cast a mist around a plain doctrine, by exaggerating the difficulty of distin-
guishing between things civil and things ecclesiastical. Both of these artifices
were very plentifully used against us when we were contending for our princi-
ples within the Scottish Establishment ; and I am not surprised that they should
have had their effect in influencing your view of our position since we left it.
But stript of all its technicalities, and of the details of endless legal subtlety,
our claim really never amounted to more than this, — that it belongs to the
visible Church herself, according to her own views of duty, guided by the word
and Spirit of God alone, to say who shall be admitted to membership, and who
shall be admitted to office, within her communion; that is, not merely to admit,
by whatever ceremony, but to judge who shall be admitted. The Erastianisni
"which we condemn, is a direct refusal of this claim.

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